


Fall From Heaven

by Madalayna



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Also no one knows about zombie!Ward yet, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anniversaries, Canon Compliant, Declarations Of Love, Developing Relationship, Did I mention the smut?, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fitz always has to be the hero, Fitz attempts self-preservation, Fitz doesn't want to be second choice, FitzSimmons Secret Santa, Future Fic, Grand Gestures, Heavy Angst, Hurt Leo Fitz, I hope she doesn't regret that decision, I'm clearly not a happy person, Jemma is bad at saying what she wants, Just a little context, Just filthy, Leo Fitz Feels, Minor Original Character(s), Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Relationship Issues, Requited Unrequited Love, Shameless Smut, Very Minor, a little Jemma pov, broody Fitz, but no real plot, did I mention the angst?, doesn't make it very far, food is one of the ways to Fitz's heart, happy ending really!, independent Jemma, it has a small amount of them being adorable, jemma feels guilty, mentions of Maveth/Will, mentions of Perthshire, mostly Fitz pov, my giftee said she was okay with smut, pretty much, protective Fitz, sex for comfort, sort of, talking it out, the bloody cosmos, there's no xmas in this fic, this is my first pwp, this whole fic is basically just them working out their crap, three months after Maveth, until the show comes back anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-10 02:53:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5568031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madalayna/pseuds/Madalayna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of Maveth, Fitz ponders just how he can possibly move forward with Jemma when they're so clearly cursed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hell on Earth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place three months after "Maveth". No one yet knows about Zombie!Ward. 
> 
> This was written for [cardb0rdeaux](http://cardb0rdeaux.tumblr.com) on Tumblr for the Fitzsimmons Network Secret Santa Exchange.

 

 _Gifts fall from heaven only in fairy tales._ _–Walter Ulbricht_

* * *

 As Fitz sat at his workstation making more adjustments to the new hand he’d made for Coulson, he realized it had been three months exactly since the portal. Since the day he’d killed Will—or his body, anyway. He supposed "It" had done the real killing. Whatever "It" had been in the end—whether some ancient Inhuman or a monster out of a fairy tale. Really, either seemed just as credible. Though Fitz supposed it didn’t matter now they were all safely back on Earth and "It" was still marooned on Maveth.

Straight away Jemma had wanted to know everything that’d happened while he was struggling in that hellish blue wasteland—and he couldn’t keep it from her. He didn’t even see the point in trying, really. He was beyond hope for them now. Even though Will was dead, it was clear to Fitz that now there was no longer anything to muck up between Jemma and himself—not really. That was if there had ever been anything to muck up in the first place. He still wasn’t even sure of that anymore, and now likely never would be.

As irrational as it seemed, Fitz felt incredible regret over the fact that he couldn’t bring Will back as he’d promised. At least, then Jemma might’ve been happy now, rather than so full of heartache. Fitz recognized that if he told her how Will died saving her, Jemma would likely feel the weight of her own guilt. However, he hoped that she might come to see that Will had readily sacrificed himself for her out of love. Fitz told her everything and trusted that it would ease her burden—in time. 

He really did hope that Jemma would still want to be friends, of course—eventually. But even that bit of mending seemed a good deal to wish for. The expression on her face when he’d explained how Will’s body had burned when he fired on it with the flare seemed to indicate that much, at least. Things between them were understandably strange after that.

Jemma retreated into a sort of self-imposed solitude. Though she came to the lab every day, the two of them had their own individual projects now and they seldom spoke. At first, she didn’t often speak even to their assistants as far as he could tell. She seemed content to leave all their duties as the joint Heads Science Division to him. He didn’t mind and he continued to oversee everything as he’d done since her disappearance.

Even more rarely, did Jemma join in on any activities with the rest of the team. Only twice, had Bobbi or Daisy managed to entice her from her room during a film or a games night. He’d spent the entirety of both keeping his eyes on the activity at hand. Attempting to make sure he never made her feel uncomfortable—or himself, when it came to it. He still thought about her often when he was alone, even though it continued to be incredibly painful for him to know that they had come so close to what he’d dreamed of, only to have it snatched away by the cruel universe. 

In the lab, sometimes she sent him a tight-lipped smile over the distance between them, but he only returned it with great apprehension. If they were to remain friends, he thought they likely both needed space and time to heal. After all, they were each grieving their own individual losses.

“Incoming!” Bobbi shouted through the open lab door as she headed down the hallway with a quickened step.

He watched sedately from his station as Jemma scrambled to collect her accoutrements so she could get down to the containment area for a new Inhuman intake procedure. In the last month, she’d become the welcoming, friendly face all the recently-retrieved Inhumans saw upon their arrival in containment. That was, once Daisy and the team collected them “from the wild,” as Hunter often liked to say. 

It surprised Fitz that she'd taken the job when it was offered, now that Bobbi was back to fieldwork. After all, Jemma had once seemed so frightened by the Inhumans and Daisy’s transformation. She wasn’t always at her best when it came to change. He wondered if her time on Maveth hadn’t forced her to become more adaptable and this was how that translated back here on Earth, to this new, easy acceptance of things that had once seemed so frightening to her. 

Feeling like a creeper, Fitz watched her out of the corner of his eye as she hurried from the lab before he went back to his tinkering. He actually managed to get lost in the delicate work for awhile until an explosion rocked the entire base. Jemma was the first and only thing he thought of, even as assistants around him gasped or cried out at the sudden thunderous salvo and terrifying upheaval beneath their feet. 

Not knowing what had caused the explosion and hardly sparing a thought for anyone else, he grabbed his tablet and ran for the containment units—for Jemma. 

Checking for her location on his tablet, several more explosions jarred the base’s foundation as he ran the hallways that would lead him to her. It sent dust and debris falling from the ceiling; he just wiped it from his eyes, coughing and running with single-minded intent as he tried to keep his feet even when several more explosions nearly sent him to the floor. 

When he finally got to the anteroom just outside the containment housing unit, Jemma was pushing up from the hard concrete as if the force of the explosions had just sent her sprawling. 

“Are you okay?” he blurted in a panic as he ran to her. Helping her to her feet, he took hold of her by the shoulder and hoped it looked like an attempt to support her rather than the meager effort to prolong their contact that it really was. 

He absolutely didn’t expect it when she looked up into his face and laughed heartily. “I’m fine,” she said as the smile faded slightly from her lips. “It’s well done you that these adaptive walls are able to withstand that level of energy discharge, really.” Her sudden grin was almost disconcerting after so long not seeing it.

He might’ve been embarrassed by her compliment but, still recovering from his worry over her, he barely heard it. Feeling awkward that he’d apparently overreacted, he instantly dropped his hand from her shoulder. For some reason, his mind had immediately decided they were under attack and his one concern had been to get Jemma to safety.

“I, ehm—I’m sorry. I just got, ehm—well, worried, I s’pose,” he stammered, tipping his head forward and rubbing a spot over his eyebrow with his index finger. He noticed Jemma's tablet and clipboard on the floor. “I’ll just—“ He pointed back toward the way he’d come in. Quickly, he scooped up her things from the floor and handed them back to her. “Here. I should get back to the lab.”

"Thank you," Jemma said, brushing her fingers over his as she took the stacked tablet and clipboard. He nearly pulled away, startled by the way her fingertips slid along his knuckles slowly. Not wanting to distress her, instead, he slipped his hand gently free and dropped it to his side.

"Sure," he mumbled, cheeks warming before he glanced briefly through the large viewing window at the blonde woman inside the containment housing unit.

Staring at her hands in horror, she was crying and the tears were slipping down her cheeks so quickly they looked like they were rolling in a continuous stream that dripped from her jaw and onto her open palms. It made him shudder; he was horrified for her and strangely frightened by the enormity of feeling she was expressing. 

He turned back to Jemma and found she was still looking at him somewhat appraisingly, but he didn’t wait to see if she would say anything further to him. Instead, he turned and headed hastily back to the lab. 

He tried to lose himself in his work again but he was vaguely haunted by, not only the tearful new Inhuman woman, but Jemma’s odd laugh. Was it funny that he still worried over her? Or was it just that it was so ridiculous he still felt it should be his responsibility to look after her? He couldn’t parse it out in his head just why she might find it amusing as he came running in to protect her like the devil was on his heels. There were a number of other reactions that made sense to him. Anger. Frustration. 

Even hate. 

He wouldn’t be all that surprised if Jemma’s grief turned to hate for him. If she needed someone to blame, that was all right with him. He would rather it were him, anyway—he couldn’t bear to see her blame herself any longer. Still, the laughter bothered him, as well as its potential meaning.

When Jemma came back to the lab several hours later, he didn’t even hear her until she was nearly at his elbow. “Fitz?”

He looked up from his delicate soldering on Coulson’s new hand, thankful he hadn’t started in surprise and ruined what he was doing. 

“Sorry,” she said, just seeming to realize what he was working on. “I was taking some readings from Sarah—the new Inhuman—and I was thinking that maybe we might be able to modify the inhibitors that I originally made for Daisy. Sarah’s powers are very, I suppose, unpredictable—for lack of a better word. I’m not certain she’s able to consciously shut it off at all right now. It may well be linked with emotion. That’s certainly not uncommon, it seems. What do you think, Fitz?”

He slid his safety goggles off and shook his head slightly, trying to clear it back to reality. It had been so long since he and Jemma had worked on a project properly together, he wasn’t certain that was what she meant. 

“Well—“ he said, not quite sure where to begin. “Are the inhibitors really goin’ to work on such a different power from Daisy’s?”

“I think it might,” she said. “Based on my readings, I think it’s worth a shot. Sarah seems to send out some small pulse of energy from her hands that then sparks the explosions. I think it’s exciting the molecules in whatever she aims it at until the friction literally causes a chemical explosion as the atoms are broken apart and reformed into new substances. Quite fascinating, really. Very difficult to control, however.”

As if on cue, the base juddered again with another blast. 

Jemma looked upward, toward the ceiling. “I really wish we might get a new base. I’m not sure this one can withstand all these Inhuman powers.”

“I’ve been engineerin’ structural reinforcements on it for months. Don’t worry, Jemma. Coulson’s been preparin’ for this,” he said, not wanting to remind himself exactly what Coulson was willing to do for the greater good. 

“So, what do you think?” she asked cheerfully. “Would you help me modify them?”

He was a bit thrown by her decidedly buoyant attitude. He’d expected her to still be quite despondent, even depressed, now that Will was gone. So much had happened, and she was behaving as though everything were just as it had been between them so long ago. Far longer than he can remember, or so it seems—but hadn’t it only been two years since everything went to hell after the pod? 

It was difficult for him to see through it all sometimes. He mostly lived in the moment and, oftentimes, processing the past was something that seemed to happen below the level of his conscious thought—a simulation running in the background. Being subconscious, there was no guarantee his mind would actually reconcile his experiences and things moved so quickly these days that he hadn’t really considered everything that had occurred since the pod. Perhaps it was an excuse but thoughtfully examining, in great detail, every excruciatingly painful thing that’d happened between he and Jemma over the course of the last two years somehow seemed a waste of his mental energy. Especially when it all seemed so impossible for them now.

Looking up at her as she leaned against his workstation just like the last miserable two years hadn’t even happened, he noted that Jemma’s lips were deep pink and her freckles were all covered up. When had that happened? Not that it really mattered whether she wore makeup or not since she looked beautiful regardless. He missed all her freckles, actually. Why was he even thinking about this? Shake it off, Fitz, he thought.

“Yeah…” he said uncertainly, remembering her question of whether he'd help with the modification but he was struggling with the realization that, at some point, she'd started doing her makeup again and, evidently, it had completely escaped his notice until now. “I mean, I can help with the inhibitors, if you like.” 

“Of course, I would, Fitz,” she said, almost sounding rather elated. It made him feel just a touch of that lightness in his chest that he really wanted to shove back down and then bury as deeply within himself as he could. 

He was still wondering if it was good or bad that he was missing little details about her now. Was he finally getting to the place beyond longing that he’d been searching for practically since he woke from the coma? Or was it only that, still mired in his love for her, he’d finally abandoned such a vast amount of hope that he’d lost all drive and fallen into a state of utter passivity? In theory, if he was getting over her, he would likely no longer find her quite so attractive.

Attempting to test his hypothesis, he flicked a quick glance up and down her form. Swallowing convulsively, his eyes inadvertently lingered over the way her crossed arms pushed up her breasts and how the desktop was indenting the flesh of her bum through her jeans as she leaned against it. Nope. Uh-uh. Bad hypothesis, that was. Back to observation stage in the scientific process.

“I—ehm, I–I can probably finish this up tonight and we can, ehm, start tomorrow. How about tomorrow?” he said in a verbal stumble, all while not quite meeting her gaze. He was hoping to avoid another swell in his heart that he knew would come with looking too deeply into her brilliant, dark-amber eyes. Especially, when she was acting so bloody happy. It would be like looking into the sun, both blinding and beautiful—inspiring yet inflicting its damage forever.

He tried not to be bitter at her bit of cheerfulness. She’d been miserable as long as he had, really, and she deserved to be happy. It was certainly not her fault that he wasn’t. He was glad she could find comfort in _something_ and science had always lit her from within the way nothing else could. 

“That’s wonderful,” Jemma said, smiling with that little crinkle in her nose that he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d seen. Then, in her exuberance, she put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. Angling his head to look at her hand, he had to swallow past the tightness in his throat. Seeming to sense his discomfort, she released him with a slight look of regret. Apparently letting none of this dampen her sudden optimism, turning toward the door, she said, “I’ll see you in the morning, Fitz. I’ll bring the tea.” Waving to him over her shoulder, she quickly made her way out of the lab, leaving him reeling at her sudden burst of friendly affection.

Telling himself he was being ridiculous for making too much of her obvious attempt to normalize things between them, Fitz still didn't want to analyze, too thoroughly, his motivations for telling her he’d be finished tonight. He decided to stay up late and keep his promise of completing the repairs to Coulson’s hand before morning. Then, they could start modifications on the inhibitors. Nights were always the worst, in any case. Dark thoughts came to him in the black of his room and it was better if he had something to do until he was too exhausted to lie awake pondering his own guilt, shame and undeserving nature. 

He worked until around three in the morning, sighing in relief when his latest round of tests were completely successful. He fell onto his bed without even taking off his clothes. Bunching his pillow under his neck, he hoped to get a little sleep before he had to be clever for Jemma in the morning. However, that was when he remembered that it didn’t matter if he was clever or not. It wasn’t as if he were quite the genius he once was anyway. But, evidently, brilliance was never going to be the primary factor making the difference to Jemma in any case. 

Like Will, she wanted someone handsome, strong, brave—a real bloody hero. Fitz had to face it, he was never going to be _that_ guy. Will died to save Jemma’s life. No further proof was needed of his worthiness as far as Fitz was concerned. Because, if Will was ready to do that for Jemma, then he had truly deserved her love. That was nearly the most painful part of all, really. It hadn’t just been some fling at the end of the universe because it was all there was—they’d really loved each other. 

Jemma had agreed to the date with him but she hadn’t loved him that way, he realized now, not really. She’d only been willing to settle for what they had together until—against all odds—she’d found him; the man she truly loved, not only loved, but _wanted_. 

Because Fitz knew that Jemma loved him too, in her way, but apparently she just couldn’t quite bring herself to want him as well—at least, not in all ways. Not in the important ways that mattered when you wanted to bare your heart and soul to someone for the rest of your life—deeply, tenderly, passionately, devotedly. All those things had clearly been for Will, and not for him.

He had to accept that the time to create a future with Jemma had come and gone. Either fate or the cosmos had done its dirty business and made sure the opportunity had passed them by. And, here she was, left mourning the true love of her life, while Fitz mourned that future they would never have together. 

Perhaps it was the future they never should've had, in any case. Jemma never should've felt she had to force herself to love him in a different way. She owed him nothing and if that's what she’d intended, then it wasn’t right—not for either of them.

Nevertheless, the weight of his love for her was just like a boulder resting directly on his heart and the fact that it still beat was a mystery to him. 

After they’d discovered it was Hydra manipulating the portals all along and Jemma had started arguing for leaving Will behind for the greater good, Fitz could hardly stand it. He just wanted the whole thing over with. Will back with Jemma, the two of them together—finally reuntied—and everything just completely finished so Fitz could get on with his ridiculous and cursed life. The idea of leaving it so unsettled was a torment—especially after what’d happened in the lab that night. He really didn’t want to think about it because the memory of her lips, their kiss—it nearly killed him to remember it’d ever even happened at all now. He wanted Jemma to be happy but he also didn’t want to live in a miserable limbo with her any longer. 

Sometimes he just wished for the pain to finally end and he really didn’t even care how. He hadn’t expected to survive going back to Maveth, though he’d certainly intended to get the real Will back for Jemma—if at all possible, that was. But, at the time, even that had seemed a bit of a pipe dream with Ward and Hydra involved. Fitz had jumped into that portal with the conviction that he would never go back through it again—never see Jemma ever again. Somehow, he’d been surprisingly okay with that outcome. If he could’ve sent Will back through and known that Jemma would be happy, taken care of and safe, that would’ve been just fine with him.

Knowing full well he shouldn’t indulge his dark thoughts and feelings like this any longer, still, he went on torturing himself with what-ifs and maybe-one-days (that he didn’t really believe in) until tears finally leaked from his eyes. Unable to completely stifle them, he never fully let himself go either. He couldn’t—for fear that he may never stop again. 


	2. Gravity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

 

_The darkest hour is just before the dawn. —folk saying_

* * *

 The next morning, Fitz wandered into the lab feeling bleary, sleep-deprived and bedraggled. He’d changed his clothes and cleaned his teeth, but hadn’t managed to get up in time for even a shower after such a horrid night. Jemma had left his cup of tea at his workstation, but wasn’t to be found at her own when he got there. He sipped the warm brew gratefully and worked on some admin until she finally came in several minutes later with a plate of eggs, bacon and toast. She set it down before him and smiled warmly. 

“You look thin,” she said simply. Then, with a slight pat to the back of his shoulder, she turned and went to her own station.

He stared down at the plate of food— _in the lab_ —and wondered if Jemma had somehow been stolen and replaced with a duplicate. Not really one to look a gift horse in the mouth, however, he used his toast to maneuver his eggs onto the fork and into his mouth as quickly as possible. He'd nearly finished by the time Jemma came back with her notes, holding them out so he might take them as she tried to be sneaky about stealing his last half-piece of bacon. Once upon a time, he might’ve complained but, instead, he just looked over the notes, nodding at her conclusions. 

“Without any testin' at all, it looks like it’ll work,” he agreed tentatively, once he’d finished reading. 

“Excellent. Obviously, there still needs to be a bit more research done and some simulations, of course,” she said, still seeming almost overly-cheerful as she finished chewing the last of his bacon with her fingertips pressed daintily to her lips. Swallowing, she added, “After that—you can help me make the modifications?” 

“I can…” he said hesitantly. “I mean, you designed and built them the first round yourself, I’m not quite sure what you think I’ll be able to do any better.”

“You always think of things I don’t, Fitz,” she said effusively, reaching out her hand toward him but not quite touching him. “Daisy said they made her dizzy and a bit nauseated, maybe you can mitigate that or even eliminate it entirely? We’ve always worked better together—haven’t we, Fitz?” The earnestness in her voice was nearly excruciating to hear. 

He recognized that Jemma was trying to give him some kind of subtext and the only one that came to mind was that she was extending the olive branch—she still wanted to be friends or, at the least, work together again. 

“Yeah, course,” he agreed easily, though he wasn’t entirely sure he was ready. It felt selfish, however, to withhold his friendship. She’d been through much worse than he had, after all. “I’ll start lookin’ over your schematics. I’ll let you know if I have any questions. Okay, Simmons?”

The cheerful half-smile she wore faltered instantly but he couldn’t think why. She took a sharp little breath and nodded once before bringing up the corners of her lips again. The hard-pressed spurious smile she adopted was almost more of a frown but before he could ask what was wrong, she turned abruptly and went back to her own workstation. 

He watched her from the corner of his eye for a couple of minutes as she tip-tapped on her keyboard sporadically—pretending to work. Finally, she gave him a small significant look that he knew meant she was leaving the lab before she turned and went out the door. Though he understood that she was upset, he had no clue what he’d done to unsettle her so. She came back half an hour later, looking just as sunny as she had earlier—before he’d, evidently, made an arse of himself in some fashion. But then he wondered if it wasn’t just her lingering sadness rearing its head again as she tried to put on a pleasant face for him even in her grief. Immediately, he felt the tug of wishing there was something he could do to make it easier for her but, if that was the case, he didn’t really know what he could do to help her. Evidently, mourning just took time. He couldn't help but wonder just how much longer he would continue to lament their lost future.

Late that afternoon, he was finally ready to discuss his research into fixing Sarah’s problem. However, Jemma’s new cheerfulness seemed to have evaporated and she began to argue with him at every turn. 

“—the dampening effect—“

“—is not going to help with the—“

“—on her physiology—“

“—unless it really is coming from—“

“—could end up bloody well killing her!”

Jemma stopped mid-breath, her eyes going wide as she suppressed whatever retort she might’ve been about to make. “Killing her?”

They were standing next to Jemma’s workstation and she sat down heavily in her chair. 

“Sorry, Simmons,” he said. “The inhibitors, on a second look at your research and runnin’ a few simulations of my own, just aren’t goin’ to work for Sarah. With the potential for feedback much more dangerous, she could, well, explode herself, I think.”

Jemma looked up at him, appearing empty and utterly defeated. 

Hating that he’d made her feel anything that caused her to look like that, he wanted to reach out to her, comfort her somehow. At least, emotionally, because comforting her physically seemed like dangerous ground for both of them.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure we can come up with somethin’ else that’ll work,” he said apologetically, smothering the urge to touch her again and sliding his hands up to his hips instead. “I’ve already got some ideas. It just—well, it’s not goin’ to be the inhibitors.” 

Jemma looked almost like she might cry and he felt incredibly guilty telling her that her idea wouldn’t work. Just one more in such a line of defeats for them, it seemed. Unable to stop himself any longer from offering some sort of consolation, he finally settled on dropping a light, tentative hand on her shoulder as she’d done to him the day before.

Fully prepared for her to reject the gesture or for it to become awkward, he was surprised when she reached up, not quite smiling, and wrapped her fingers lightly around the muscle of his forearm. It felt callous but his first instinct was to pull away. He fought it, giving her shoulder a small squeeze. He wanted to offer her this little bit of support when she seemed so low. 

Jemma’s smile broadened at the continued contact, the lines around her mouth deepening in a genuine show of happiness. He couldn’t help noting how her eyes seemed to shine suddenly brighter in the lab’s diffuse light. He felt a bit lost as her lovely brown eyes gazed up at him with such fondness that he was almost overwhelmed with his own affection for her. But then her tongue abruptly skated out to moisten her parted lips, leaving them glistening and he tensed, sick, as a sudden thrill of lustful heat shot up his spine. However, that shame was almost instantly forgotten as she ran her hand up his arm until she was clutching just behind his elbow, where she gave him a little squeeze.  

Hitching in a sharp breath, he immediately tried to check himself. He already knew it was a mistake to let his mind run away with anymore foolish ideas about what Jemma might feel about him. Knew it was too easy for him to read into her friendly nature and get caught up in more futile hope. It didn’t mean what he wanted it to. But the warm feeling he’d been trying to fight all day spread through his chest in response to her kindness and her smile, which had grown somehow even wider. He realized a slow, involuntary smile was spreading over his own lips. Cursing himself for his weakness in surrendering to his more adoring feelings for her, he couldn’t make himself shake her off or remove his hand from her shoulder. Relishing it, he continued to rest his hand there, unwilling to burst the small bubble of denial that was allowing him pretend that everything was somehow fixable, that some way they would be together. 

Quite suddenly, Jemma leaned forward, then glanced back and forth through the lab. Not sure what was going on, he mirrored the gesture and found that, it being fairly late in the day, there was no one left in the room any longer—no one but them. 

Giving his elbow another small squeeze as she looked up at him again, with her eyes wide and beseeching, Jemma said, “Fitz, do you—“ But her eyes dropped slightly to his chest, lingering there briefly before traveling up again to meet his intent gaze. Her face contorted just slightly in apparent pain before she managed to breathe out, “do you hate me?”

“What?” he spluttered, snatching his hand away from her shoulder and dislodging hers from his arm as his brain tried to figure out how her line of thought had gone from not accidentally killing Sarah and figuring out something in place of the inhibitors to— _that_.

“I mean, after all is said and done—I know that—well, that I—"

“Jemma,” he interrupted, feeling his shoulders riding up near his ears at the thought of going over any of those things that he now knew were so useless. He didn’t need apologies, or her guilt, he only wanted her friendship if she was still willing. “Stop. You don’t have to explain anythin’ more to me. We–we’re good friends and I’m sure we always will be. I’m—“ he swallowed hard, “ _fine_. You don’t need to worry about me. I could never _hate_ you.”

“What about—“ her eyes grew round and glassy, as she finished, “Perthshire?”

Fitz’s mouth went dry and his tongue felt too thick suddenly. He tried to form thoughts, words, sentences. What was she even— 

He started to shake his head. “Tha’s not—we can’t go back to before everythin’—” His heart was beating in his throat and he felt his own tears burning at the backs of his eyes. “You–you’re  _hurtin’_ , Jemma. And I get that but—this isn’t—I can’t—” 

His mind was reeling at the implications of her question but he stopped short when she reached a hand up to stroke his cheek. Catching it in his grasp before she could make contact, he squeezed her fingers gently. 

“I can’t do that, Jemma. I can’t go back,” he said, realizing she was giving him a look full of confusion but, not sure what he was quite trying to say himself in his rattled state, he didn’t know how to correct it. There was only one thing he was certain of but he couldn’t bring himself to say the words out loud. It would be too painful because it would make them real. 

He couldn’t be her second choice. 

Giving her fingers one last squeeze before he turned, he strode out of the lab without a backward glance. Though, much to his shame, he listened for any sound she might make—from calling him back, to even as little as a sob. Had she done either—had she done _anything_ —he’d have turned in an instant but he heard only silence.

He had to stop himself from running down the hallway all the way to his bunk. Settling for a brisk pace, he even managed a nod to Bobbi when he passed her on the way.

When he finally got the door shut behind him, he couldn’t stop all of it from flooding into his head. All his jealousy, resentment and guilt—so many horrible feelings—but there was also the overwhelming love and the crushing longing for her. Mostly, it was just the godawful fucking _unfairness_ of it all. But almost as painful as that, was his new certainty that it had _always_ been doomed between them, right from the blasted start. 

Because even if he could somehow go back to before all of it and save her from going to that cursed planet in the first place—still, he knew the truth now—he’s not the one she wants. 

It was too easy for her to give up on him— _on them_ —just months, when they’d had years together. No, an entire fucking decade! But it wasn’t enough, because no amount of time could make her love the wrong person, and that wrong person was him.

He collapsed to his bed and covered his face with his hands—ashamed that he couldn’t let her go, that he was so bloody weak. He didn’t know how he could be so pathetic but, even so, he knew he wanted to take what little she offered, no matter how small. He wanted whatever she would give, the smallest crumb of love or affection. 

But he couldn’t allow himself to because he knew it would never be right—never _enough_ —not for either of them. He would always wonder if the next guy she met would be the one to take her away from him because he was braver, stronger—truly a hero—someone who could be all the things she’d always wanted. All those things that Fitz would never be. Someone she could _really_ love—not like him, just a stand-in, a fake, a fucking cardboard cutout. 

A placeholder is all he’d ever been for her and that’s all he ever could be. He knew it now. It was branded into his brain and nothing could ever heal that wound. It just continued to fester and rankle until he wished there were some way to cut her from his mind and his heart as well. 

He stayed in his room, tormenting himself until he finally fell into a fitful sleep. In the morning, afraid to go back to the lab, fearing Simmons would again bring up what he didn’t want to speak about, he tried to come up with words to combat her suggestion. Nothing came to him; which was really the heart of the issue because, intellectually, he knew he shouldn’t take what she was offering but, emotionally, he didn’t think he could refuse again. However, with no choice but to go back to work or quit his position at S.H.I.E.L.D., he finally opted to go in spite of his fears, dragging his feet the entire way, both literally and figuratively. 

The good news was, his fears were unfounded. Simmons didn’t bring any of it up again. When he got to the lab, she greeted him enthusiastically with tea, eggs and the return of her cheerful attitude. The bad news was he didn’t know how to take that turn of events. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t make him feel half mad. It was as if yesterday’s conversation hadn’t even happened while she watched him tuck into his eggs and began to describe her own version of another way to control Sarah’s powers. 

It was apparent to both of them that their relationship had taken a few steps back in the coming days as his awkwardness and discomfort around her reached a new peak; he deemed it the highest level since they’d first met at S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy. Though he couldn’t exactly help his tense manner when she was around him, it pained him to see the hurt in her eyes when he flinched away from her touch or instinctively stepped away to keep a significant amount of space between them. And though he wondered what she thought about why he did this, he couldn’t possibly tell her that it was to keep his own temptation at bay. 

Because, whenever he was with her, it was now on the tip of his tongue to ask her if she meant it—if she still wanted Perthshire with him—but, each time the urge nearly overtook him, he bit his tongue and said nothing. 

For several weeks, despite his constraint in her presence, the two of them worked on various ideas for a way to dampen Sarah’s energy explosions. It went better than he expected, considering. Simmons’ cheeriness remained, though it seemed at least somewhat blunted after that awful conversation. However, she seemed to realize he needed space and she kept her distance. Slowly, his discomfort levels dropped again as she continued to make no further mention of Perthshire or their potential for a more intimate relationship. 

Once again, as always, they worked as well together as they ever had. Finishing each other’s sentences and improving on one another’s ideas the way they had for almost a dozen years now. 

Unfortunately, Sarah’s powers were causing a bit of a roadblock. The source—her hands—could excite the atoms of anything that touched her. She could simply blow up any device they put on her. That was, unless it might cause some sort of internal feedback, in which case, it could potentially kill her. While she was extremely durable on the outside due to her power, her insides were as vulnerable as anyone’s.

While they busied themselves with simulations on their end, Daisy tried to work directly with Sarah, attempting to train her to control her power. Though rather frustrated by it, Daisy was forced to do all her work from outside the safety of the polytechnic-adaptive walls. Unfortunately, the word down the line was that the lessons weren’t going well. Which only put more pressure on Simmons and himself to come up with a technological solution and, by Coulson’s order, it had now become their only project. The explosions were worse some days more than others and the structural enhancements he'd designed for the elderly base were already in need of upgrading.

“Cold. That’s the thing,” Simmons said, from her workstation one evening when Fitz was just about ready to give up on the latest round of failed simulations for the day. She almost sounded as though she were speaking to herself but then she looked up at him expectantly when he swiveled around to face her. 

“Cold?” He couldn’t even stop the expression of puzzlement that probably made him look like a complete berk. 

“Yes! What about the cold? Freeze it out,” she went on excitedly. He realized then that she was speaking about Sarah's powers. 

“Oh, right,” he muttered, shaking his head slightly at his own egocentric thinking. He didn’t know why but for some reason, his first reaction was to think she was, in some way, speaking about them—their relationship.

“Well, we’ve proven she’s elevating the energy level of the atoms above baseline, thus creating heat. If the source were reduced closer to ground state—well, wouldn’t that—I don’t know—at least, _help_?”

“I dunno,” he said curiously. “But, I mean, how cold can we really make her?”

“Her skin is quite impenetrable and we’d only really need to cool her arms, I think, since that’s where the source of her power seems to be,” Simmons said, speaking more quickly as she got into the idea. “Realistically, it may only be a stopgap measure and it certainly isn’t completely without potential risk but, right now, she doesn’t even have bedding or anything that could potentially catch fire or explode. She’s going through tracksuits like you wouldn’t believe.”

Fitz couldn’t help bursting out laughing at that. But quickly remembering himself—and Sarah as tears streamed over her cheeks—he knew that this was an actual person who was going through such terrible hardship and he was instantly flooded with guilt. However, the whole concept of unintentionally and repeatedly setting fire to your own clothes had seemed hilarious for just a moment. 

“Sorry,” he said, shaking his head and scrubbing his hands over his face. “Tha’s not funny.” Simmons was looking at him with a vague half-smile on her face. Embarrassed over his outburst, he looked around and saw that everyone had gone from the lab. “Ehm, I think I’ll pack it in for tonight. I’ll see you in the mornin’, Simmons. Let me know if you run some simulations on that, okay?”

As he stood up, she slid off her chair, still giving him that same small smile. “I’m knackered, as well,” she said over her shoulder while she collected some notes. “I’ll walk you back.” For a moment, he could’ve sworn he heard a watery undercurrent to her words, as if she might start crying. But turning to face him, she appeared no different than usual.

“Ehm, yeah. Okay,” he said, a touch dubiously. 

Their rooms were in the same corridor, after all, so it made sense. However, it had him feeling slightly uneasy—though, it was certainly nothing they hadn’t done uncountable times. Still, that was before brain damage, being not-friends, almost going on dates, Jemma falling in love with someone else and then that someone dying. Now Fitz had no idea where that left them—except somewhere very awkward and uncomfortable for him. He didn’t imagine it was exceptionally marvelous for Simmons either but she seemed to hide it far better than he did. 

Perhaps that was what bothered him? Her ability to hide her feelings now. She’d been far more transparent before her mission to Hydra. He could’ve read her like a book before that. Now she was a mystery at least half the time. Was she _trying_ to hide her emotions from him? Attempting to spare his feelings with her false high spirits even though she was still grieving? He saw on her face and heard in her voice the occasional small flutters of her sadness, as if she just couldn’t contain it any longer. He couldn't help that it only stirred up his worry that she would make another desperate plea for them to be together. Should she make any further offers, he didn’t know how he would resist. 

Whatever doubts he might’ve had about her motives seemed to melt away as she walked alongside him, chatting animatedly about ways she could see cooling Sarah’s arms without causing damage to her nerves, muscles or other internal tissues.

He stopped at his door with Jemma still talking at his back. Once he had it open, he turned to say goodnight only to find her right on his heels—apparently ready to come in and continue their chat. And, this too, was nothing they hadn’t done hundreds, if not thousands, of times over the years, though certainly not recently. His anxiety rising, he realized he couldn’t really think of a way to fend her off. He didn’t want to hurt her or make her think he didn’t trust her in some way. After all, it was his own lack of willpower he was fearing more than anything and not actually her. 

With deep misgivings, Fitz stepped into his room and allowed her to follow him. But with everything still feeling just a bit off from normal, he opted to sit in his desk chair facing her when she dropped down on the end of his bed and continued to maintain her stream of chatter. Not really even looking at him, her eyes were angled upward as she ruminated aloud, searching for a breakthrough. His worries soon eased with the idea that, had she intended to corner him in some way, she’d likely have already begun. 

As she continued to speak, he found himself really relaxing as it became oddly comforting—a reminder of what “normal” was supposed to be between them. It was as if things really would go back to how they once were between them. They could go back to being best friends again—which had once been more than enough for him. He hadn’t minded that—in one way or another—she hadn’t thought of him as a suitable mate. If he’d ever even thought of it at all. He wondered, offhand, how he might get back to that state of not-minding—able to think of her as not much more than a sister when they were together. (Even if he always did have the odd fantasy or dream about her. He was only human, after all. And she was, most certainly, not his sister.) 

He had the rather awful realization suddenly, that you likely couldn’t ever _go_ back. It occurred to him that once you loved someone as he did Jemma, even if the yearning went away, the love likely never did. Not that he hadn't loved her before but not in this crippling, agonizing way that made life so unbearable. So, evidently, there would never be a “normal” between them again, just this terrible strangeness that would always separate them. This thought made him want to run, get away, find something new to take away this pain that ran so deep he didn’t think he’d ever be whole again. 

He watched her as she spoke, spinning ideas out into the air between them and he knew from somewhere deep within him that he wouldn’t leave her. Not because he _couldn’t_ but because he was all she had. Just as she’d once been all he had. And he still remembered, clearly, the pain that her leaving had caused. He couldn’t do that to her—no matter how much it hurt him to stay. He loved her too much to abandon her like that and if it meant he took the brunt of the anguish, then so be it. Cursed in such ways as they were, it was like hell on Earth—endlessly together and yet perpetually apart.

Biting back the urge to mention things best left unsaid and desperately trying to ignore the deep ache in his chest reminding him just how much he longed to tell his best friend that he loved her— _needed_ her—somehow, he was able to shut his eyes and just luxuriate in the calming tone of her voice. He basked in her brilliance as she contemplated the effectiveness of various cooling methods and the fluid dynamics of a number of liquid coolants. Knowing that all he need do now was nod at the right places, perhaps ask a topical question or two and then he could just sit there, permitted to admire her while her attention was diverted by her own winding thoughts. 

Preoccupied by the sight of a large freckle at the neck of her top and then indulging in the sight of the play of light and shadow at the hollow of her throat, he caught himself horribly late while drinking her in far too desirously as her gaze drifted back to him.

Jemma abruptly stopped speaking mid-way to explaining why she thought liquid oxygen would be better than nitrogen.

Instantly, he dropped his eyes, a blush creeping up his neck as he cursed himself and wished he could smack himself upside the head for his idiotic slip.

Desperately wanting her to leave him to his shame, immediately he glanced back up, simultaneously frantic for her response—though he had no idea what to expect exactly. He was completely thrown when the thoughtful expression she'd worn as she theorized fractured in an instant and a single fat teardrop slipped down her cheek. It was as if her tears had been ready just below the surface all along and it took no time at all for them to come forth. 

“I’m so sorry, Fitz,” she said with profound sadness in her voice as her face suddenly contorted with her crying. She didn’t even bother to cover her face or wipe away her tears as he would have. The openness and trust she was showing him startled and awed him. 

“What? But why?” he managed, confounded by her response to his pathetic, weak-willed pining. 

“I mucked it all up,” she said, peering down at her lap and picking at a seam on her jeans. 

“Mucked what up?”

She looked up, startled out of her preoccupation. Her jaw was slack in surprise even though her forehead was crimped with confusion. Sounding a bit airy, in seeming astonishment, she said, “Us, Fitz.”

Sending out an appeal to the cold universe, he pleaded that somehow she wasn’t speaking about what he really did _not_ want to rehash in the least. He just had to hope against hope it was only their friendship she was concerned about. 

Drawing his brows down in confusion, he proceeded in full denial of her bringing up their ill-fated love story. “We’re _fine_ , Simmons.”

“You can’t even call me 'Jemma' now,” she said in a small voice, glancing down and letting slip a small humorless laugh that sounded more like a sob. It was as if she might dissolve into tears again but she held them back. Finally looking up at him, her eyes were wide with anxiety and expectation.

Already his jaw was tense, almost painful, with the press of emotion he was attempting to hold onto in the back of his throat. He sighed shallowly, accepting that he would have to tell her something. 

“It’s difficult,” he admitted. “I just—I need to keep things in order,” he tried to explain, knowing it was something like the truth—shallow and simplistic though it may be.

“Why?” she asked and her expression was completely guileless in that moment. As incredible as it seemed to him, he realized with that one look, that one word, that she didn’t understand at all. Her conception of how he felt had to be hovering around zero. “You said you don’t hate me but—were you only being kind?”

He shook his head vehemently. “I c–could never hate you, J—er, Simmons.” His damaged brain was failing him in the face of so much overwhelming emotion. It wasn’t listening to what he wanted, it was going into old habits and he cursed under his breath. He took in a few deep huffs of air, trying to calm himself down. 

When he looked back at her, Jemma was looking up at the ceiling, breathing steadily, and it was as if she were trying to hold back the flow of her tears with gravity. When she let her gaze  fall back down to him, her eyes were still sheened and glittering.

“Why do you have to keep them in order, Fitz? I never stopped wanting our dinner together,” she said, peering at him so earnestly that he couldn't look at her. He dropped his eyes to the floor, it was either that or risk breaking down completely. 

It was a deep, painful stab directly in the heart to hear her say she still wanted their dinner because he knew that, once again, she was trying to resign herself to him. He didn’t want to be her consolation prize, he wanted to be her other self—a part of her that she couldn’t be without. Maybe once, he had been something close to what Jemma believed she wanted. A crude sketch that somewhat sated her needs before she’d discovered the one who truly filled that void completely, who suited her in all possible ways. 

Still, she continued relentlessly, “Why, if you don’t hate me, do you have to try so hard to keep me at arm’s length?”

Fitz was completely unable to look at her as he ground out, “You know why.” He couldn’t stand to say the words she already knew out loud: _because you wanted him and not me._  

He thought it might finally kill him. Not to say it—but when she didn’t deny it. That surely would stop his heart instantly. It would be the final stone on top of that boulder resting on his heart and the weight of it all would finally squash the life from him once and for all. And, even if it didn’t, it would certainly make it far too difficult to be around her any longer. If those words infected the very air between them, like a disease, then it might eat at their very roots, down to the core of what they were to each other. Once that was gone, there would be nothing left but their final, ultimate separation. 

“I’d give anything for it never to’ve happened,” she said, covering her face with her hands, rubbing her fingers over her forehead as she tried not to let her tears go.

“But it did,” he said bitterly. Knowing he was taking the easy way out of the conversation but, the pain cutting so deeply, he nearly didn’t care, he added, “We can if-only, on and on, but it won’t change a b–bloody thing.”

He was unable to be happy that she was, apparently, still willing to accept him because then she would also be giving up on any future happiness in her grief. So much worse for him but better for her, might be if their eternally-cursed love affair would only last until she found someone better, someone she could truly love again. He hated himself for thinking it and he didn’t really believe she was so mercenary, only confused and so very heartbroken. It seemed absurdly ironic, suddenly, that both of them had their hearts in tatters and yet they couldn’t even comfort one another due to their particulars. 

Jemma was nodding firmly as she dropped her hands limply from her face to her lap in seeming defeat. “It’s because I didn’t believe that you’d find me.” Though her voice was soft and fragile, her words weren’t posed as a question. They came out as a flat statement of fact. “I didn’t believe in you.”

He could see instantly that, in her mind, that was the clear reason he wouldn’t agree to her pitiful comfort, her desperate attempt to cling to one another out of grief and loneliness. Her chest heaved and tears began to break like waves, rolling one over the other as they slid down her cheeks.

Seeing her in such pain was almost too much for him to endure. He stood from his chair unthinkingly, wanting only to hold her, reassure her that it would get better—but he knew he shouldn’t. 

“I don’t _blame_ you, Jemma. Not at all. I don’t blame _anyone_. Okay?” In frustration, just wanting _something,_ no matter how irrational, to blame, he shouted, “Still, it’s the bloody cosmos that’s against us!” Stopping himself from getting up enough steam for a full tirade, instead, he focused on trying to calm his turmoil again. He brought a hand up to rub along the back of his neck, then he sighed and said, “I’m sorry. I dunno—maybe before we might’ve—but not now.” 

Certainly, not now that she understood what love really was and Fitz could never be anything but a disappointment to her. 

As much as he loved Jemma, Fitz knew if she loved Will even half as much, then there couldn’t be anything left for him in her heart now. If she had died, he would’ve been nothing but a husk—hollow and open for anyone to exploit. He didn’t want to do that to her. And, though he didn’t think he was quite that far gone yet, if anyone _could_ take from him, she certainly would be the one. Fortunately, she never would. Jemma would never hurt him intentionally—she was far too honest and more giving than she likely should be. Protecting himself from what she could unknowingly do was his concern. Then again, what was there to take from him that he wouldn’t freely give to her, if only she asked him for it?

Jemma stood, facing him as she wiped the tears from her cheeks with a palm. “Why, then? What was it I did that made you unable to—to—“ Her voice broke as her tears began again and the last part was barely above a whisper, “to love me now?” 

Immediately, he covered his face with his hands, trying to reign in his own rush of tears. With his jaw clenched tight, he said, “You didn’t do _anythin’,_ Jemma. God! I _do_. Of course I still do, even now.” With that, she tugged his hands away from his face. Her eyes were still shining with unshed tears but she wasn’t crying any longer. In fact, she seemed to be smiling and sniffing back her upset as she looked into his eyes. Stepping in toward him, eliminating much of the space between them, she slipped her hands up onto this shoulders. He grasped her forearms in an effort to hold her back, keep some small distance between them as he tried to explain, “That’s not the problem, Jemma. It’s that you d–don’t—“ _Want me._ He would’ve finished but his voice broke and, unable to continue around the lump in his throat, his tears overwhelmed him. 

They were overflowing the dam he’d been building to keep them at bay since this all began. Ever since the bloody pod when Jemma had only stared at him in stunned silence as his words penetrated through her fear. _More than that._ What an idiot he'd been. He knew in that moment that she didn’t really love him as he'd wished she would but it still hadn’t mattered because he was meant to die saving her. 

He couldn’t even get that right.


	3. Weightlessness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very NSFW!

 

_Happiness is like those palaces in fairy tales whose gates are guarded by dragons: we must fight in order to conquer it. –Alexandre Dumas_

* * *

“I _do_ , Fitz,” Jemma sobbed out, responding to whatever she believed he’d been about to say.

Her arms went round his neck in a strangling embrace. His hands, still lightly grasping her forearms, slid up to her shoulders, but at the compelling feel of her hugging him so close, he couldn't stop his arms going around her with his fingers splayed over her back. Pressing his cheek to her silken hair, he pulled her even tighter as she clung to him. 

Near his ear, she spoke softly, “I’m so sorry. Please, just—” But he didn’t know how she might’ve continued.

Quite suddenly, she was pulling away, dragging her soft cheek along his roughened one and sliding her fingers into his hair to guide his head to the side. It almost felt like deja vu when her lips finally met his and began moving against them.

Powerless to resist, he felt as though his body were too light—nearly weightless—as he held the plump tenderness of her lower lip pressed between his. The feel of her lips capturing his felt as if she wanted him and he trembled at the thought. He was filled with a sense that, somehow, they might overcome these universal forces working against them, that this potent connection between them could subdue anything that threatened it. The deep, fiery draw of her mouth was raking up all the intense feelings he'd been trying to smother for so long, reigniting his passion and frightening him with the fierceness of his own love and desire. As the intimate heat of her mouth engulfed even such a small part of him, his pulse began to pound in his ears as he wondered if there really could be room for him in her heart now. His mind was staggered, whirling with thoughts of how this could ever be what he wanted, what they both needed—true and forever.

He really had been trying to block out that evening in the lab when they’d kissed—before he’d gone back to Maveth and they learned Will was dead. When—despite his protests and fears—he'd still thought there could be a chance for them, small though it might've been. He was still a bit ashamed of the way he'd just gone for her but it seemed his only chance—his moment, as it were. Feeling strangely emboldened by Jemma’s intimation that he was somehow worthy in her mind after he'd rescued her, a kiss had seemed a small thing. One he’d hoped she wouldn’t hate him for afterward but, in that moment, he just wanted to know the feel of her lips against his one time. 

That night, it had seemed like his whole world—everything that meant something to him—was slipping through his fingers. All hope lost the moment that awful word “yes” came candidly tumbling from her lips, confirming all his fears and insecurities, and instantly breaking his heart.

Yes. She loved Will. Perhaps, without fully intending it—with that one word—she had also established the inverse without ever saying it aloud. Still, there was no need, he understood plainly. No, Jemma didn't love him. Which was, of course, just what he’d always feared.

He knew from the start that the words would be devastating, but he'd never imagined there could be anything worse than listening to her speak that crushing phrase of "I don't love you". Never had he dreamed of confirming her inability to love him by hearing her admit to loving another. It seemed the adversity between them was never predictable. More of the universe's cruelty—it even prevented him from preparing for his emotional obliteration in advance.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t quite bring himself to regret his impulse to kiss her because of her response—she’d kissed him back a second time. It was nothing like the first that he’d tried to steal. Tender, electric and fraught with feeling all at the same time—it felt just so incredibly  _right._ But it only made the pain that much more keen because it wasn’t right, in fact, it was completely _wrong_. It was only her pity for him and, perhaps, some small bit of regret. Fitz had been trying to forget it ever since.

Because, of course, nothing could come of that kiss—they were cursed, after all. Then again, perhaps, "doomed" was a better descriptor? Really, there were many words that seemed to fit: bedeviled, luckless, ill-fated. Ah, but, star-crossed—that was the one. That word, when applied to them—well, it was almost funny when you thought about it. As unlikely and incomprehensible as it seemed, they’d both crossed the stars and come back again and yet still, they were forever parted by circumstance. Thinking again, perhaps the proper word to suit their predicament was, in fact, _tragic_. Downright tragic—yes, that was them. Their story would’ve made Shakespeare piss himself.

Despite Jemma’s assertion that the cosmos wanted nothing, Fitz couldn’t overlook their lack of favor in the universe’s eyes. Not even now, as she tenderly angled his head to the side with gentle fingers on his jaw. As she drew his top lip between hers, pushing and pulling his lips in that ancient, captivating rhythm until he became so muddled he didn’t know which way was up. He couldn't forget, so he resisted his instincts when they told him to hug her closer, to mold her body to his, and never let her go. 

No, Fitz couldn’t ignore their run of bad luck. No matter how hard he tried. He was only ever the understudy for Will, the man she really loved. Fitz had long since played his part—now they both had. The curtain had drawn down on her true love and now it must too on her best friend. Their run was over and Jemma needed a new lead to uphold her future of love and a chance for happiness. Fitz had to be strong and put an end to this obvious flirtation with disaster. It was the right thing, even if it wasn’t at all what he wanted. There was nothing he desired more than to give in to her lips against his and pretend that she was doing this for no other reason than because she loved him.

His brain was screaming at him that this was never meant to be and he would pay the universe's due if he didn't stop this. Though he wasn't quite strong enough to part himself from the heady feel of her lips, he brought his hands up to her shoulders, holding them just that much apart and preventing her from pressing in more closely.

He could feel Jemma crying again, her breath shuddering against his lips, her shoulders trembling under his fingers. Her tears were on his cheeks and he could taste them on his tongue as their lips continued to meet in synchronicity. The rhythm still bringing his longing for her to a fever pitch and he knew he had to pull back, stop this, or soon he would be lost. 

“Please, Fitz,” she begged against his lips. He knew it was because she was feeling his hesitance and sensing his fear.

Deepening their kiss almost painfully, she pulled him with her hands pressed hard against the back of his neck, bringing his mouth down on hers. Not able to will himself to oppose her, he let her slide her tongue into his mouth. Slick and nimble, she grazed a tingling path along his that had him squeezing his eyes closed, fighting the urge to attempt to inflame her in return. Then her fingers were skimming down the sides of his neck, over his shoulders to his chest and, shocking him, she began undoing the buttons on his top. 

 _This is very wrong, isn’t it?_ he asked himself, believing he already had the answer but suddenly wanting another.

What did she want from him? He knew she loved Will. After all, she’d told him so. Was it only some bit of comfort she wanted, a respite from her grief? What else could it be? He didn’t really understand why else she might feel she needed or wanted this with him. What was it exactly that Jemma thought she needed? Just something quick to mask her pain, a bit of comfort until things settled in her heart, or was she planning out their doomed future together?

Then his stomach lurched at the thought that it might only be pity for him and he pulled away from her. His half-undone top slipped from her fingers as he turned and braced himself on the wall, catching his breath. 

“I don’t—“

“Please, Fitz. I want to be with you," Jemma said, her voice steady as she reached for him, grasping his shoulders. Self-control gone again, he let her turn him back to her. "Together. Do you—Isn’t this what we both want?” Her question was so painful, it was ringing through his brain and all he wanted to do was cover his ears to prevent himself from hearing anything more. 

She stepped in toward him again and, though overtly her expression was one of dejection, he saw so many bewitching tinges of seductiveness that had him utterly glued to the spot, unable to move. Fitz's forebrain, the area of logical though, was telling him to go—save himself—because, clearly, this would be disaster. However, his deeper, primal region was awake and hungering—it very much insisted he stay just where he was. Despite the fact that he was torn between the two extremes, his limbic system, the emotional center of his brain, easily overpowered all else. It was reminding him that Jemma was—even if their relationship never surpassed friendship—the love of his life. And she was telling him that she needed— _wanted_ him.

Jemma pressed in closer to him, her body between him and the door, as if fearing he would attempt the escape his out-voted rational mind still cried out for. It made no difference, had he wished to go, the hinderance of her body would've been nothing to the blockade of her red-rimmed eyes full of unshed tears as she looked up at him.  

It was clear to him that she wanted his comfort now—for a time, at least. But how long until she found another Will who would sweep her off her feet and take her away from him? For some reason, Fitz decided that there were likely many potential Wills out there for her—so many heroes, men who were good and could keep her safe. Yet, he completely believed—knew in his heart—that there was only ever one Jemma for him. That without her, he would be alone and miserable for the rest of his days. Many opportunities for happiness could be hers for the taking and yet his _only_ chance was already dashed. All he would ever have now is just this little bit that she offered. He was still wavering—should he accept her scrap of ill-favored affection? Could he really refuse even if he wanted to? How many men could ever refuse their heart’s desire? And, as Jemma had once told him, Fitz was, after all, only a man. Weak.

At his utter lack of response in either direction, Jemma's hands went to his shoulders, gripping the muscle as she looked at him with indecision. She was breathing heavily, her eyes searching his for some sign but he could neither agree nor reject her—still torn, nearly in half this time. 

He opened his mouth to speak, to say that he didn’t know but, as if she feared his words, she surged up to her toes and brought her lips to his. Though he still felt like a criminal, he eagerly kissed her back. She seemed to take this as a good sign and, for minutes, her mouth searched his with such ferocity that he grew breathless, his ragged inhales through his nose insufficient to keep him from growing dizzy. 

He turned his head, gripping her by the upper arms, but Jemma didn’t pull back. Moving forward, sliding her cheek against his, he felt her lips on his throat along the edge of his shirt collar. While she kissed and nipped his skin determinedly, he couldn’t stop himself from, at least, bringing his arms back around her. Trying to ignore his newest upwelling of guilt, he embraced her as if his life depended on it. 

Hugging her tight against him, slipping one hand along her neck and into her hair, her lips suddenly stopped mid-kiss. Uncertain if he was grateful or in despair, he felt Jemma slip her chin onto his shoulder and simply hug him back. A tear slipped down his cheek when he realized it felt like she never wanted to let him go—he just wished it were true. But with that one small taste of what it might feel like if it truly were real between them, he was swayed. 

As much as he was trying to fight such selfish thoughts, with Jemma’s lips on his skin and her desiring his arms around her just as he’d always dreamed of, Fitz knew that this was the only way he could let himself drift into the oblivion of denial and imagine—for a night, a few hours, even for a few minutes—that it was all real. He yearned to let himself believe that the way her fingers bit into his skin and tightened in his hair was all because she truly loved and wanted him. And, yet, beneath that, he still knew that tomorrow, in the harsh light of day, he would know the truth again—he wasn’t the one.

“Why? Why do you want to be with me?” he asked, needing to hear some reason, any lie that would ease his conscience or perfect his denial—the desperate need for it made the sound of his own voice into something so anguished he hardly recognized it as his own. 

Really, he knew she couldn’t say anything to make it better but he still wanted her to try. He wished there were some magical word she might say that could make everything right between them again. Even going back in time couldn’t fix them, not now that Fitz knew he could never be the one for her. Knew that he could never make her happy. 

For those shining, precious few minutes after she’d accepted his offer to have dinner but before he'd realized she was gone—Fitz had thought that he was the one and that they would be together for the rest of their lives. And for the months she was gone, he’d never given up, always believed he could bring her back—because anything else was unthinkable.

She couldn’t die just when she’d finally realized they were soulmates.

He knew it was a silly romantic notion but, somehow it felt strangely possible. The way they fit each other so well, in nearly every way. How they'd merged into their partnership without needing any but the slightest adjustment. They were like two halves that went together perfectly and, once joined, they became inseparable. He didn’t know it then, but he’d been so wrong. Because if soulmates were even remotely scientifically possible, then it was Will, not him, that must be Jemma’s true other half. Fitz didn't know what it was but he must be missing some key element and, without it, he could never be more to her than what he was. 

She didn’t really love him at all, Fitz had already surmised, not romantically. She was forcing herself. He was no more than her best friend, just as he’d always been. But even if what they shared were just some ordinary commonplace type of love and not the true love he’d once dreamed of, he couldn’t let her settle for something so rife with such low expectation for happiness—for joy and fulfillment—particularly now, not when she’d experienced the real thing. Fitz could only believe that she deserved another great love like that, not something so one-sided with him. She deserved to be truly happy, not just content to be with him rather than alone.

“Because I love you.” He heard her say the words in response to his need for reason but, even with her eyes so full of sincerity, he knew it didn’t mean what he wanted it to.

It didn’t help his denial or his conscience because he knew the truth—that she was the one in denial. She didn't realize that she was only grasping onto the closest life raft in the tumult of her raging emotional seas. Of course, she thought this was what she wanted, knew he did, too, but she just didn't understand that she was only going to hurt them both later.

Her I-love-you signified something else to her. It meant that Fitz was her best friend, the one who would always comfort her. And it was true—he would do whatever she needed, just to comfort her and ease her sorrow. 

She wasn’t his, didn’t belong to him in even the most insignificant sense, but for a little while she was trusting him and wanting him to make her forget. And, somehow, in his bizarre amalgam of selfishness and selflessness, he would try to do everything in his power to soothe her suffering because he loved her more than anything—more than his life. 

He didn’t know if he could help with any of what was wrong, ease her emotional burden in some way, but he would try if it’s what she wanted from him. That was one thing that always made him feel so incredibly guilty—that she seemed to want so little from him and he always seemed to want so much. Now he couldn’t deny her, not even if it broke him. Realistically, he thought that this situation likely would finally kill him—one way or another. Because how could he go on after this, when this meant nothing to her but pleasure muting out the pain? What did it matter if he went on at all if their being together really was nothing to her?

Maybe it wasn’t healthy or quite right, but how could he be expected to be the judge? He wasn’t exactly objective on the matter. Who could expect him to say no when it was what he wanted as much as he wanted anything? They were adults after all, and he was going in with his eyes open. He knew full well she was going to break his heart—again. 

Fitz also knew he was over-rationalizing but it was her lips against his skin again that was really winning the argument. Despite all his flailing and internal moral struggle, he still knew he would always do what Jemma wanted. If she needed this or even just wanted it—for comfort, or even as a way to say goodbye to what they might’ve had—it didn’t matter to him. He only wanted it because he loved her.

Jemma’s mouth had traveled along his throat, over his jaw and up to his cheek, when, for the first time, he actively turned his head to meet her lips in a deep, purposeful kiss. Apparently startled, she pulled back to gauge his sudden change of approach. Her lip quivering slightly and her eyes still almost seeming to threaten tears, she looked into his eyes, searching. Hating to see her upset still so keen and, feeling guilty he'd contributed with his hesitance, he wanted to do anything now to dispel it. He didn’t know what expression to put on his face to show her that he’d made his choice but, it seemed he didn’t need to when she suddenly smiled and leaned up for another kiss—and, this time, Fitz let himself go. 

Freeing the passion he’d kept such a tight reign on for so long, he slipped his tongue past her lips to stroke within and, for one moment, he felt the potent drug of her moaning deep in her throat and realizing that it was for him. That _he_ had done something that pleased her so much. Knowing he would never really live in her heart quite the way she did in his, it felt incredibly selfish to care and he tried to push the thought aside. However, it also made him feel strangely powerful in a way he never had before. Somehow, he'd never really believed he could elicit such a response from her—as much as he might've desired that. Up until this point, it had all been securely in the realm of the fantastical. Suddenly, it was very real.

Her fingers had resumed their work and were expertly continuing to undo his buttons. As soon as she shoved his button-down off his shoulders, he made an effort to swallow away the last of his fears. Clinging to his small surge of confidence and the idea that he was capable, he took the hem of Jemma's top and tugged it over her head. 

Knowing it would forever be etched into his mind, he stood and just took in the sight of her—standing there in her bra, her hair just falling back down onto her shoulders as her arms fell back at her sides and her deep, brown eyes seeming to sparkle as she looked back at him. Already, he was undone but then she bit her lip, smiling alluringly, and her expression grew almost giddy before she rolled to her toes and kissed him again. Savoring every second, he clung to her as she pulled him close to bring their chests together. He realized he could feel the stiff peaks of her nipples through the soft fabric as she breathed against him. 

On a sudden uncontrollable impulse, he buried his fingers in her hair and kissed her hard enough to tip her head back for a moment but he quickly checked himself, pulling back in remorse at his sudden rapaciousness. But Jemma only pressed in again, stretching up as she moved her hands over his shoulders and along the back of his neck. Looking up at him with her eyes dark and desirous in a way he’d never seen before, she slid her moist, pink tongue out toward him like an offering. He watched as it curved stiffly upward to a neat point while she leaned in toward him. Mesmerized by the unexpected sight, he was almost surprised when she suddenly licked a wet stripe across his lips. The playfulness of it was unexpected and had him back to not quite believing that this was real. Nevertheless, when she offered her tongue again, he smiled and caught it with his lips, sucking it into his mouth until her lips met his again. She kissed him even more deeply than before now, sliding her tongue against his in a way that made him want to give himself over to her completely, even if her inevitable rejection ultimately left him in ruins. 

Humming her approval into his mouth, she rolled her hips, rubbing herself against him. Her pubic bone ground into his already half-hard cock and made it twitch in his trousers as it filled with heat. He shifted his hips back from her but her response was to let her fingers trail down his naked belly and, lower, to touch him through the fabric. 

Still somehow fearing she’d suddenly remember herself and change her mind, he didn’t question the idea of looking for a distraction for her. He fought the urge to rock his hips into her palm and gave her a slightly pleading look instead. Her return gaze dared him to resist as she squeezed his cock through the fabric again. His jaw went slack as she caressed, her lips finding his throat once more and sucking sensual kisses up to his jaw but it was too much, her intensity making him uneasy. This was supposed to be for her, after all. It's what he'd decided.

He gently stilled her hand. “Not a very good idea,” he said, watching her eyes, but rather than challenging him further, she looked down demurely and let him go. “I should—ehm, jus’ lemme—ehm...” He tried to find words to describe what he wanted to do but they eluded him, his flustered brain working against him again.

Closing his mouth now that it seemed so useless, he used his hands at her waist to gently urge her to turn. She gave him an impish grin but then let him guide her, turning until he was at her back. Moving her hair aside so he could kiss her freckled shoulder, he embraced her, wrapping his arms around her waist with his palms flat against her belly. Bringing his mouth down on her neck, he slid his tongue along her soft, ivory skin and felt her shiver against him. 

Rolling her head to the side, she gave him space to adore her with open-mouthed kisses along her neck and shoulder while his hands wandered up and down her sides and across the taut flesh of her belly. As much as the feel of her skin beneath his lips and fingertips was more than he'd ever hoped for, the sound of her little gasps, long hums and unrestrained sighs were nearly enough to lose himself in. 

He was stunned by her response to him, never having imagined affecting her this way. As much as he might’ve wanted that, he somehow always thought that, in reality, it would take much more of them just getting used to one another. He realized he was feeling startlingly unfettered himself, free in a way he never had before, her responses reassuring and encouraging him past nervousness and fear. However, he also felt a bit overwhelmed. Pausing his attentions, he hugged her to his chest a little more tightly, pressing his cheek to her soft, dark hair. When he relaxed his hold again, pressing his lips to the hinge of her jaw, he went suddenly tense as she reached down to take him by the wrists and drag his hands slowly upward to cup her breasts. 

His breath stuttered in his throat but he tried to distract from it by nipping the side of her neck. She gasped as he kissed her just where her neck met her shoulder and he could feel the blood racing through her throat beneath his lips. He had that odd feeling again, a surge of powerful satisfaction over the fact that it was him making her feel this way—exciting her and pleasing her in ways he’d never really believed would happen.

Tentatively, he began to caress her breasts through the silky fabric. Intently attempting to arouse her, he was emboldened by her pleased humming and how her fingers tightened on his wrists as he stroked and touched in ways he'd not dared to believe would ever be. He teased her nipples to hard points until she gasped loudly and leaned her head back against his shoulder. Instantly, he let go, afraid he’d already been too rough. Head popping off his shoulder, she squeaked in indignation and reached for his hands again to bring them back. He found he had no objection whatsoever. 

Closing his eyes, he buried his nose in the silky, sweet-smelling waves of her hair.  As she clutched at his forearms needfully, he teased and even pinched her through the fabric. He brashly slipped his fingers over the lace border, growing slightly more hesitant as he dipped deeply into the cups of her bra to play along the edges of her hidden flesh.

“Please. Take it off,” she groaned, tipping her head back onto his shoulder again as she purposefully angled her backside against his throbbing cock. 

He didn’t hesitate to put space between them so he could feel for the clasp. Though, he was rather anxious to get away from the too-incredible feel of her arse against him, he couldn't help just how eager he was to finally expose what, he had no doubt, would always be the part of her anatomy that held the most fascination for him. Considering how much he was enthralled by the rest of her, it was really saying something. As much as he was a bit ashamed by it, Fitz had dreamed of Jemma's breasts a good while—far longer than he’d been in love with her—and he couldn’t quite help being excited by the prospect of seeing them in the flesh, as it were. 

Undoing the small clasp as quickly as he could with his hands a little shaky, he dropped the bit of fabric, not really caring where it landed. Somewhat torn, he fought the urge to turn her toward him, wanting to drink in the sight of her, but he reminded himself that he needed to focus on her. He'd waited this many years, a few more minutes wouldn't do anything more. Reigning in his selfishness, with his hands still trembling a bit, he let Jemma guide him by the wrists to fill his palms with yielding flesh. He was encouraged through his nerves as she flexed her fingers over his, demonstrating how she preferred him to massage and manipulate her sensitive skin. He was surprised by the way they seemed exactly the perfect size to fill his hands, with nothing wasted. 

Releasing him, running her fingers up along his forearms, she leaned into his hold in a way that was so trusting that he was momentarily taken aback by it. His hands slowed their attentions and she whimpered disappointedly, tipping her head to the side so she could nip his jaw playfully. He took it as cue to finger the puckered flesh of her small nipples. Drawing a startlingly loud moan of pleasure from her, he circled her areolae with his thumbs. Endlessly aroused by the tense, sensitive flesh, he lightly pinched and caressed the stiff little peaks until she arched against him, letting out a sharp cry. Convulsively, her fingers would tighten and loosen on his wrists while he worked, as if she really couldn’t quite bear the pleasure any longer. However, if he even slowed his pace, she would whimper in dissatisfaction until he sped his fingers up again. 

Rather desperate now, he so wanted to turn her around and finally see the objects of his desire but he still didn’t want to make this about him. It was supposed to be for her. At least, that was how he still tried to keep it compartmentalized in his mind. 

So, with one hand he continued to tease her breast, the other, he slipped lower to the waistband of her jeans. He tried to slide his fingers down inside but they were fitted too snugly. As soon as Jemma realized what he was trying to do, her fingers quickly worked her zip open and she even slid her jeans down her hips some. In order to get them all the way off, he would’ve had to separate his fingers from her breast, however, he found he really didn’t want to let her go and she made no effort to curb him.

Slowly, he grazed over her belly with his fingertips in an attempt to excite her anticipation but also because he was actually quite terrified. He honestly hadn’t thought they’d get this far. At each turn, he’d expected Jemma to come to her senses and push him away or just awkwardly explain how she’d changed her mind. Now, his fear was reaching a pinnacle because it’d been ages since he’d done anything like this and he couldn’t help dreading he’d muck it up terribly. It wasn’t exactly as if he’d ever thought he was particularly gifted in this area anyway. Of the four girls he’d slept with, only one had come back for a second go. He sort of assumed he was rubbish, really.

Fitz slipped his hand down lower until he finally felt the line of her knickers. He pushed past, below the band, and she immediately tilted her pelvis up toward his searching fingers. He found the movement so erotic, it became quite difficult not to grind his cock against her arse where it was pressing far too close. She took in a sharp breath and reached back, grasping a handful of his trousers and pulling him against her. It seemed incredible—impossible almost—how she seemed to want him to touch her like this. 

He scratched through her triangle of hair with his fingertips and found it was surprisingly soft. He stroked up and down a few times, just memorizing the feel, until she bucked her hips forward with a little gasp. 

“Tease,” she whispered, her tone mischievous. 

She tugged on his trousers again and he couldn’t stop himself from grinding against her as he brought his mouth down on her shoulder, barely nipping with his teeth. She gasped, her head going back as he slid his fingers down to her cleft—stopping just shy—he felt the moist heat radiating there but he went no further. 

He found himself surprisingly intimidated by crossing this new line, more so than any of the previous. It felt like, if he did this, there was absolutely no going back. They would forever be changed by it. Possibly, in an attempt to hurry him, she rocked her hips and swayed her body against him, seemingly quite aroused and wanting. He wanted only to please her and, perhaps—somewhere deep down, in a place beyond conscious thought—he wanted to do everything in his power to make her love him. Leave no stone unturned in the struggle to be everything she could ever want. As if he could find the missing element that would finally make him her perfect match.

Separating his mouth from her neck, he brought his lips very close to the shell of her ear and whispered, “Ready?”

She agreed with short, vigorous nods of her head and, stunning him with her abandon, she spread her legs wider to give him more room. Unable to stop himself at such a provocative display, he rolled his hips just slightly, sending a ripple of pleasure out from his neglected cock as he rutted against her like a bloody animal. Feeling more lustful than he could ever remember, he slipped two fingers into her slick folds, exploring her heat. Circling in a way he hoped seemed somewhat expert, he then headed down to the source of her wetness. 

She ratcheted her hips slowly upward as he moved lower, tipping her pelvis in invitation. His fingers slid around her entrance, hesitant, until she whimpered and clutched at his wrist needfully. Requiring no more encouragement than that, he pushed a finger slowly inside and the noise she made was excitingly animalistic. In another fit of hedonistic desire, he couldn’t resist rubbing himself against her arse again—longer, more lingering strokes in contrast to the previous quick, short thrusts. Jemma let go of his trousers to run her hand back along his hip before sliding around to grip a handful of his arse and making him gasp reedily in surprise.

“Pleeeeease, stop teasing now,” she said in a drawn out half-moan, rocking her pelvis up sharply and causing his finger to slide into her almost completely. 

For some reason, that’s when it occurred to him that he was currently in the midst of fingering a mostly-naked Dr. Dr. Jemma Simmons. His lab partner. His best friend of almost a dozen years. The woman he’d been in love with for almost three years. When it hit him all of a sudden like that, he couldn’t quite catch his breath for a moment. Trying to cover so she wouldn’t notice, he kissed her neck again as he slipped a second finger inside her heat. 

A more than sufficient diversion, she groaned and rolled her hips as he slipped his fingers shallowly in and out a few times before skating them back up to slide over the tense little nub of her clit. She gasped almost in surprise it seemed and he felt her legs beginning to tremble precariously already. He released her breast and wrapped his arm around her waist for added support. She made another slight noise of protest that was drowned out when he slipped his fingers over her clit again. However, her legs seemed to be growing weaker and not wanting to have an issue at a critical moment, he withdrew his hand from her knickers to the sound of her exasperated sigh. Though he couldn’t see her face, he suspected she’d rolled her eyes as well.

“Get on the bed.” It came out as more of a command than he’d intended in his current apprehensive state of arousal. 

Jemma turned to him and quirked her lips in slight amusement while he stared at her captivating breasts. They were gorgeous as far as he could see—perfectly shaped with ivory skin and small, rose-colored nipples. They were also dotted with numerous freckles that he wished he could know very much more intimately. Had he the time, he would count, memorize and name them all. 

Without a word, still smirking at his boldness, Jemma dropped down on the end of the bed with a jolt that caused her breasts to bounce and wobble enthrallingly. He still couldn’t quite take his eyes from her as she leaned back on her arms, toeing off her trainers while her breasts swayed with her movements. She was smiling up at him, obviously amused at how stupefied he was over the sight of her breasts. He realized he hadn’t moved a muscle since she’d turned. 

Suddenly embarrassed, with a blush tinging his ears, he tried to think quickly and jerkily motioned for her to budge up. Lips still twisted into a smirk, she began to move but, slowly, enticingly, pushing herself backward until she was finally laying flat with her arms wound up under her head. It made her breasts—which he’d been studying for how they differed when she was lying down—rise up higher on her chest, their shape changed but no less attractive for it. 

Looking down at him almost lasciviously, her tongue peeked out provocatively to wet her lips as he reached for the waistband of her open jeans to pull them the rest of the way off. He had to suck in more air to accommodate his sudden shallow breathing as he leaned over her expanse of bare skin. She readily angled her hips up off the bed for him, allowing him to pull her jeans down and off her legs before tossing them aside. Swallowing convulsively, he reached up to hook his fingers into the waistband of her knickers. Slowly, he began to drag them down her legs while she watched him with darkened, half-lidded eyes. As he inched them down past her ankles, she pulled her right foot out sharply, bending her knee upward. 

When he had them off her other foot, he glanced up to see that she’d let her bent knee fall wantonly to the side, exposing her delicate pink lips to him brazenly. Just barely exposed, her folds were glistening wetly and the short, silky hair surrounding them was damp and clinging to her skin. Watching him carefully, she rolled her hips upward, as if in invitation. It was a slight movement but, so erotic, his breath caught again. He couldn’t help touching himself, stroking over his erection through his trousers, and he was startled to see Jemma watching him lustfully while biting her full bottom lip.

Immediately, he lowered himself to the bed and crawled toward her, sliding his hand up the inside of her splayed thigh until he reached the crease where her leg met the plump outer lip of her sex. He ran his fingers lightly along the seam, feeling her muscles tense and relax in anticipation. Eyeing the wet sheen of her slit, already he wanted to skip everything else and taste her but he was afraid of going too quickly. 

He still felt the need to try and draw this out. Irrationally, he still wanted to give her further chances to change her mind. Realistically, it seemed she intended to continue this and, of course, he wanted to try giving her the release she seemed to need. 

He started to skim through her folds very carefully, using his thumb to stroke up and down, while applying a bit more pressure to her clit as he brushed over it. He hovered between her legs, using his other hand to run along her inner thigh while he watched her face, searching for the pleasure that began moving across her features. Her delight made him feel that strange sense of something akin to pride again. He slid his fingers into her and passed over her clit more firmly again, surprised, when she arched off the bed already. Moaning worryingly loudly, her hands were pressed to her cheeks as if she were overwhelmed with the sensation. 

“Okay?” he asked, needing to make sure her response was a good one. 

She nodded, not quite opening her eyes.

Removing his hand, he leaned down and kissed the inside of her thigh halfway between her knee and where he really wanted to be. Instantly, her head popped up so she could peer down at him with apparent fascination. 

A little nervous under her steady gaze, he kissed her again a bit higher. This time, his mouth was wetter, firmer and much closer. Biting her lip, she gave a great sigh and dropped her head back down onto the mattress. Then with a groan that sounded more like frustration, she put her heels into the mattress and lifted her pelvis off the bed toward him. He was stunned by the sight of her opening to him even further to reveal such intimacies, astonished by both the trust and the eroticism on display. 

Again, it was nothing he’d ever dreamed of between them. Somehow, he’d always imagined that if they were ever to be intimate, it would be practical, even methodical, if Jemma were in the lead. Though he’d always hoped that it would be, at the least, quietly tender. This wantonness she was demonstrating was nothing he’d ever thought to see from his buttoned-up lab partner and best friend. It made him feel a strange abandon that he’d never felt in this setting before. Always nervous and incredibly uncomfortable the few times he’d managed to have it off with a girl before, the way Jemma was acting was giving him confidence he’d never really felt when it came to this particular activity. All the women he’d slept with seemed to want him to know what to do and simply do it but he’d alway longed for them to tell him specifics. He was ashamed to realize that Jemma was actually quite encouraging, when he'd somehow been prepared for her to be rather demanding. 

Still stunned at Jemma’s never-before-imagined healthy sexual appetite, he decided it best not to keep her waiting much longer. Nudging her legs wider, he bent down and licked the seam of her thigh with the very tip of his tongue to the music of her titillated— _oh!_

He did the same again but started lower, where the curve of her bum met her thigh. Slowly, he dragged his tongue all the way around the front, along the line where her leg would flex. Her hips were making little jerky movements and he just wanted to keep making it happen all night but her sighs were growing more desperate than frustrated now. So, the next swipe of his tongue went straight through her wet, hot slit. He was rather unsurprised by how much he liked the taste of her, pleased that her flavor was actually far sweeter than he would’ve imagined. As he moved through her folds again, he could feel her resisting the urge to move and failing as she rocked up against his tongue. He used his fingers to tease at her entrance while he began to lick and suck in earnest. Her moans were just barely muffled by her hand over her mouth as they reached almost a keen.

He felt her fingertips as they slipped into his hair and began to circle around his scalp in a physical embodiment of her anxious tension. He could hear her little panting breaths as he tried to figure out what she liked best and how she responded to each little movement he made. A little gasping cry escaped her when he filled her with his tongue but all her sounds grew more desperate as he circled her clit. She bucked and undulated her hips to get what she needed and he had to clutch her thighs against his shoulders to prevent a potentially painful collision with his head. 

Finally, he drew the needy little knot of flesh between his lips, sucking and stroking simultaneously. He was startled when she went eerily silent. He slowed the suction, about to stop and ask if he done it wrong, when she croaked out, “Don’t bloody stop! Oh god!”

Trying to prevent a smile at her outburst, he sped up again, sliding his fingers back into her incredibly hot, slick opening. Immediately, he felt her pulse against his lips and tongue, clenching around his fingers as she vibrated with pleasure. She moaned out incoherent sounds as her body arched up stiffly and he could feel the ripples of ecstasy running through her limbs with slight twitches of movement. He continued to stroke her a bit more gently until she sighed and ran her hand over his head again. 

The look she gave him was so open and sincerely happy that it gave him an actual pang in his chest.

“That was wonderful,” she said, opening her arms to him in a gesture showing her desire for him to come to her. Saying, without words, that she wanted him with her.

Somehow, the simple prompt had him near tears. It was the physical embodiment of everything he longed for but it didn’t mean what he wanted it to. He knew it and that was what had him in such a ridiculous state. However—more than that—he was _afraid_ to go to her. He’d wanted to soothe her and sate her need but he was afraid that the next activity she likely wanted to engage in would obliterate what was left of his ravaged heart. 

As he contemplated the logistics, he suddenly remembered his way out of this. He moved up beside her, pulling her to him and brushing his cheek against her hair. Knowing this would soon be over, he just wanted to hold her now. He didn’t know if this would be his last opportunity for such closeness but he thought maybe it was.

Jemma reached down almost immediately to brush over his painfully-hard erection through his trousers. He caught her wrist to still her hand. 

“I haven’t got anythin’," he said, playing, what he hoped, was his get out of jail free card. "A, ehm—a condom or anythin’." 

She looked up at him a bit shyly and said, “I’ve gone on the pill anyway. I mean, if you’re—” She shrugged, looking a bit worried, “Is that alright?”

He was startled, not only at the wreck she'd made of his excuse but wondering if she could possibly have planned on this for that long or if she’d had another reason. He felt that ugly twang of jealousy but he shoved it away because he knew that, if they were able to stay friends after this, he'd have to get over those feelings so she could finally find the right person someday. He felt slightly tempted to say no to her, only because he knew it would likely end this, however, he couldn’t bear for her to think it was for some other reason, some distrust or his vile jealousy. There was no one he trusted more than Jemma. He also had to admit, if he was at all honest, the idea of being inside her with nothing between them made his cock begin to ache relentlessly. 

Looking away from her eyes, he nodded his head—feeling selfish, guilty and just a right awful bastard. “Yeah, okay.” His voice was small and surprisingly steady but he still couldn’t meet her eyes, his guilt was too heavy and his selfishness too great. 

Jemma smiled happily and started to undo his belt and zip. He neither helped nor hindered her as she worked intently. She seemed content to struggle on her own, finally dragging everything off his hips as he raised up. The strangeness of the situation seemed to be masking his apprehension. 

That ended the moment his cock sprang free and Jemma bent her head down to lick him. Then she swirled her tongue over the tip and it felt so incredible he almost wanted to tangle his fingers in her hair and just go with it but—now that it was imminent—he couldn’t let pass his opportunity to be with her, even if it was just this one time. 

“Jemma,” he said, the plea already apparent in his tone. “Can you—er, you don’t need to. It’d be better if you didn’t, ehm, do that.” 

With a little noise of disappointment, the feel of her tongue was gone. She pressed a kiss to his belly and smiled up at him from beneath her lashes. Her full lips glistened wetly. They were still deeply pink and slightly swollen from his kisses as she ran her tongue over them indecently.  

“Sorry. Got carried away,” she said, and as worked up as he was, he felt the coiling tension deep within him grow that much tighter at how incredibly sexy she was.

He also couldn’t help but feel another little pang of love for her that she was trying to make it good for him, too. Even if he wasn’t the one she really wanted to be with, just the guy who could help her forget the one she really loved for little while.

With another cheerful little smile, that he was both happy to see and fearing he might never see again if he went through with this, Jemma went back to helping him get off his trousers. It would’ve been faster to let him do it himself but somehow they managed it with her tugging them and him kicking his feet awkwardly.

She let out a little triumphant chuckle as she tossed them to the floor. “There,” she said, “that’s one in the eye for the bloody cosmos.” She grinned down at him, clearly expecting him to be amused by her joke, but he could only assume that he looked stricken by her crestfallen reaction. 

“I’m sorry,” she said instantly, shaking her head. “I shouldn’t’ve—I won’t bring that up. That was foolish.”

Fitz realized with that one little joke that Jemma wasn't planning for just this one night—she expected that they would now be together. 

His heart full of dread, and feeling so much more exposed than just his nakedness before her now, he said, “M–maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”

Her expression, which had already been slightly downcast, went toward despairing. “What? Why?” 

Even as his mouth worked up and down, his brain found nothing sufficient to explain why he would let things go this far before backing out. When he didn’t answer right away, just stared at her with what he was certain was a dumbstruck expression, Jemma pulled down the covers of his bed and got inside. It was as if she couldn’t stand for him to see her suddenly. He realized instantly that he’d hurt her and he couldn’t blame her at all for her response. God, he was such an arse. 

Still not sure what to say, or how to bring things back, he felt oddly vulnerable himself. It seemed strange that he could somehow feel less exposed naked under the covers with her but, nonetheless, he slid inside next to her and felt some of his tension ease. Though his bed was small, they didn’t touch.

He put a hand to his forehead, at least as much to hide his face as to ease the headache that seemed to be starting behind his eyes.

“This just seems a bad time for it,” he said finally. “Maybe you’re just feelin' out of sorts.” When Jemma didn’t answer right away, he peeked out from beneath his hand.

Her expression was incredulous. “Are you seriously suggesting that, after nearly a dozen years, I want to sleep with you because I’m ‘out of sorts’?”

When she put it like that, it did sound like the most daft idea he’d yet come up with. 

He sighed. “No, Jemma. You’re…” not knowing how to say it subtly, he just decided to come out with it, “grievin’. Upset. Maybe you don’t know what you want right now.” He heard her gasp out a small sob but he plowed on. “It’s not like I’m goin’ anywhere. If you’re still, ehm, interested or—whatever. Well, I’ll—I’ll be here.” He was lying actually and he knew it. He could guess that once she was back to herself, taken some more time, then she wouldn’t want this any longer. He also didn’t know if he could ever let this happen again. The intimacy of it was even more beautiful than he could’ve imagined and, when it was gone again, he wasn’t sure how he would cope. 

“Fitz?” Jemma said quietly. 

He removed his hand from his forehead and looked over at her. 

“I’m alright,” she said. “I’m not doing this as some sort of—“ she shook her head, “solace or—I don’t know—whatever you think. I know you weren’t ready at first. I thought maybe now—“ A tear slipped down her cheek and she brushed it away in a sudden harsh gesture. “I—maybe I’m wrong. Maybe you really don’t want us now. I’ve just forced this on you. That’s not what I intended at all, I—“

He couldn’t let her go on. “You didn’t force anythin’ on me, Jemma. I wanted this. I _do_ want it. I just—“ His own tears were threatening and he took a moment to swallow them back. Meeting her eyes, pulling the blanket up over his chest a bit tighter, he said, “I want it to be right—for both of us—but it isn’t right, is it, not for either of us?”

“How could it not be right, Fitz?” she asked, her tone tinged with genuine curiosity. 

Somehow, her complete lack of understanding suddenly sparked off his anger. “How _could_ it ever be right!” he nearly shouted. Jemma’s eyes went wide and he was instantly flooded with remorse. Unable to meet her eyes in his shame, he continued more softly but with no less conviction, “You agreed to one dinner, nothin’ more. You don’t owe me anythin’. I mean, fuckin’ hell, Jemma, you fell in love with someone else—in only a few months—when we had years together. Bloody years! It took me a decade to realize how I felt. And even after you _knew_ how I felt, you couldn’t decide for an entire year. It’s because—it’s just that," he couldn't control the tone of defeat that infused his next words, "I’m not what you want. I’m only your consolation prize. That’s all I am. You don’t love me, not like him. We’re not meant to be together. We’re cursed to be apart.” Taking a brief moment to let his feelings settle, he took a deep breath, then he finally dragged his gaze up to gauge her reaction to his outpouring.

Jemma only looked back at him, seemingly stunned by his declaration. He opened his mouth to say that they should just end this charade between them now when she threw aside the covers and flung her nude body into his arms. Despite the circumstances—the two of them naked in bed together with Jemma lying slack on top of him—somehow there was nothing sexual about it because it was far more intimate than that. He felt strangely connected to her in a way he hadn’t for ages—in fact, he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt so close to her. 

Burrowing against him—fingers of one hand clutched in his hair and the other gripping his neck—she pressed her cheek against his chest beneath his chin and began to cry. He held her, stroking her hair and only just heard her nearly voiceless chant of, “Oh, Fitz. Oh, Fitz. Oh, Fitz.”

When her tears had tapered, she finally rose up, sniffing and swallowing reflexively. Leaning on her elbow and bringing her face close to his with tears still glistening beneath her eyes, she ran her palm along his cheek and said, “You’re _exactly_ what I want. You—Leo Fitz—are the one person I want to be with forever. No one else. You’re _not_ a consolation prize, you’re the only person I could ever be happy with, could ever be myself with. I’m in love with you and I want us to be together from now until the end. And we’re not cursed. The only thing standing in our way now is our own fears. I was afraid you hated me for—for everything that happened. I’m still afraid of mucking things up and disappointing you, but I don’t want to be so afraid that we never try. Please, Fitz, let’s try?”

He felt like she’d knocked the wind from him with a wrecking ball—bit of overkill, really. As he struggled to remember how to do simple things like breathe and blink his eyes, Jemma said, “Fitz? Have I stunned you to silence or are you working out how to say no?”

He held up one finger.

Then she was kissing him again. Lips and tongue, even teeth grazing his lower lip and skimming over the edge of his jaw. Her lips were soon moving over his throat and chest but all he could do was clutch at her shoulders and hope that this wasn’t a dream he would soon wake up from. 

That was his real fear. 

He’d hoped before for the magic word that would make things right between them. Well, it wasn’t only _one_ word, but Jemma had said all the words he needed to believe that this was real, that, somehow, things weren’t as awful as he’d thought. That perhaps they weren’t cursed. But he worried that, now perhaps, he’d just dreamed up all the right words to quell his fears of the terrible disparity between them. However, soon he’d wake, it would be morning, and everything would go back to being wrong between them again. Then again, perhaps the time had finally come for him to lose his mind altogether and there would be no waking, only the eternal dream. He thought maybe he could live with that, if this was his new reality.

Rather suddenly, Jemma stopped her attentions and raised up to look into his eyes again. At his distracted response to her ministrations, her own eyes appeared a little overly-wide and full of concern. “Is this alright? I mean, you still, er, want to?”

He thought of smiling to reassure her but realized he was already wearing a dazed half-smile. “If you really want this—us—forever, then yes. I mean, obviously." He sighed. "Just—you've got to be sure that it’s not only sadness or bein’ confused about your feelin’s. I don’t want you to give up a better future out of guilt or weariness and just—I dunno—settle for me because it’s easiest.”

“There is no better future for me than being with you, Fitz,” she said sincerely, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “And I never, ever thought of being with you as settling.”

“That’s sort of the problem though, isn’t it?” he questioned. “I mean, at first, you never thought of me at all. Then, you couldn’t decide. What made you change your mind, in the end?”

She let out a little sigh and it sounded oddly defeated. “I realized that I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

“Then you actually did lose me,” he said, guessing where she was heading. “You ended up on Maveth and you realized you really could get along without me. You had him.”

She looked about to cry again, making him regret his words and his doubts—but they lingered. “Oh, Fitz. Don’t you get it?” Blinking back her tears, she said, “ _He_ was the consolation prize!” She covered her mouth as if she’d said something obscene. 

And, in a way, he supposed she had. Will was dead, had died for her, believing she’d loved him when, really, she’d apparently only had Will standing in _his_ empty place. Fitz had gotten it the wrong way around.

“But—you loved him,” he said, consoling her as she cried—he now realized—out of guilt. Petting her hair softly, he tried to soothe her. “I mean, you cared about him and worried what happened to him after. It was good you had each other.” And, honestly, he suddenly was—while not _glad,_ exactly—at least, okay with the fact that Will had been allowed Jemma’s light and comfort before he died. 

Against his chest, she was crying again, her shoulders shaking, and he felt her tears on his skin. “You tried to save him. We both did.”

She nodded, sniffing back her tears again as she tried to stop the flow, she said, “I know. I love you so much for trying to help him. I just didn’t think it was fair to begin again with you until things were resolved with him in one way or another. I won’t say I’m not upset about—well, that he’s gone. But, Fitz, not because I wanted to be with him. I always knew that it would never work here—the two of us. It was only there.”

“Because it was just surviving? Keeping each other’s hope alive?” Fitz couldn’t help but ask, hating his own insecurity but wanting her to reassure him nonetheless.

Shaking her head and wiping away the last of her tears, she said, “No, you daft—” she paused, her lips pursed in mid-speech as if she’d forgotten what she was about to say, but after a beat, almost breathlessly, she finished, “ _man_.” 

Then she brought her lips to his, kissing him again—softly but with such feeling that it took his breath away. When it was over, she gave him a much more intense look and added, “It’s because you’re here, silly.” 


	4. Brighter Than The Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW, again! Jemma's POV this time because reasons.

 

_To make love to the right person makes up for a lot of mistakes. ― Dan Simmons_

* * *

Fitz leaned forward to catch her lips and Jemma felt her heart beat faster as love for him surged within her. Weaving her fingers through his short curls, she urged him back to the mattress. Reveling in the feel of his hands on her skin as they ran along her back, tracing the thin scar along her spine, before he pressed her more tightly against him. Flicking against his tongue as it teased past her lips, she tried to infuse her kiss with all the longing she’d bottled up since he’d rescued her. A sudden joy welled within her at finally feeling he was able to relax into this new aspect of their relationship. Though she knew they still needed to discuss things more fully, her fear that she was pushing him into this prematurely finally eased somewhat. She sighed contentedly against his mouth, feeling relief settle within her.

When he’d finally let loose with his inaccurate assumptions about how she felt for him, she’d been afraid there was nothing she could say that would make him understand or believe how she loved him. Baring all, no matter how raw, had seemed the only way and, even then, she hadn’t expected him to fully appreciate what she intended. Yet, he seemed to sympathize, even empathize, with her situation, putting _some_ of her fears to rest, at least. It only made her love him—desire him—all the more. 

Still feeling a throbbing heat and emptiness at her core, she slid her leg over the top of his, rocking her hips against him. The humid heat of her sex slid against his thigh with delicious friction but she hoped he would take her hint and respond.

This time, when she kissed him, he leaned up to meet her as she slid her tongue out to find his immediately. They continued for a time, kissing deeply as tongues met, lips caressed and teeth teased. Jemma ran her hand over his belly all the way down and, with her fingers, she carved little grooves through the dense thatch of curls over his cock. His kisses grew even more heated as she wound her fist around his hardening shaft and stroked him to inflamed, eager life. He separated his lips from hers with a sloppy wet sound that reminded her of the noises he’d made between her legs and her hand purposefully sped up. 

“You should, ehm—you should probably not,” he said, stilling her hand again.

She gave him a chastened look, and quickly said, “If you’re not ready for this we really don’t need to. It’ll keep for a bit if you’re—”

“It’s that I might be _too_ ready,” he interrupted with an apologetic quirk of his lips. 

“You’re absolutely sure?” she asked, trying to keep her tone from being too hopeful. She attempted a smile but it felt false as she tried to hide her potential disappointment. 

As much as she wanted this, she mostly just needed things settled between them once and for all. Obviously, she wished to make him happy and please him but it was secondary to bringing him to understanding that this was a new level she was attempting to lead them into. A mutually agreeable—so she hoped—resolution to a conflict that was completely unspoken, nearly unnamed. A conflict that she’d inadvertently created but now she sought to make right and, together, they could end—so long as he could forgive her.

“Yeah,” he agreed with a small, happy grin. “Though I’m fairly certain that you’ll soon be askin’ that question hopin’ for the opposite answer when you start to get annoyed with my pesterin’ you for—ehm, well, y’know, _more_.” He blushed at his own words, dropping his eyes and quirking a little half-smile.

She felt a new swell of love for him suddenly. A great outpouring from her heart that she wished he could experience in some way. Instead, Jemma would have to show him in other ways, she supposed. 

Giving him a look full of mischief yet with an edge of lust to it, she said, “What makes you think _I_ won’t be the one pestering _you_? Especially after your earlier, rather impressive, performance.” 

He blushed somewhat brighter pink but she opted not to say more—not wanting to embarrass him, but rather encourage him. She grazed her fingertips over his chest sensually and slid her leg along the fronts of his thighs, up and down, as she brushed a hot, wet kiss to the corner of his mouth. Her nipples hardened against his chest as he turned into her, taking her lips with a surprising confidence, despite his still-heated cheeks. Angling her head so he could slip his tongue past her lips again, she involuntarily rolled her hips against his thigh, feeling her near-embarrassing wetness as she slid against his skin. 

He withdrew from her lips, gazing lovingly up at her poised over his chest but she noticed a slight apprehension in his eyes as he said, “Do you want, ehm—like this?” He looked nervous as he hooked his fingers behind her knee and tried to urge her across his body further so she could be on top. 

Smiling at his tentative willingness to take the lead, she shifted sideways, bracing herself on his shoulders to scoot downward. All this she did while still trying to look a bit sexy. She needn’t have worried as his eyes were rather attached to the movements of her breasts as she moved. In fact, his hands were hovering somewhere at the height of her waist as if he were waiting for permission to touch them again—but first things first. 

“Are you sure this isn't too soon? You're not—” she tried to think how to say it, "uncertain?" She reached down to lay her palm against his cheek. "I don't want you to be worried that this is—I don't know," she shook her head, "temporary, or something I'm not sure of. Because, I'm sure, Fitz. _So_ sure. I know that I love you. Is that—can you believe that?" she asked, needing to hear him say that he believed her as she began to feel slightly teary again but, quashing the urge, she pressed it back within herself.

His eyes were a bit moist as well but he looked as happy as she'd seen him in longer than she could recall. She stroked her thumb over his cheek and down to the border of his lip, feeling the supple skin and wanting to kiss him again. He began to nod and, reaching up to place his hand over the top of hers along his face, he said, "I can, Jemma. I believe you. I know you wouldn't tell me you were sure if you weren't."

She shook her head. "Never," she agreed. "I know we can't promise never to hurt each other again, but I never would if I could prevent it." She leaned down to kiss him and he cupped her face so tenderly it made her breath catch in her throat. It reminded her how much she loved him but also how much she wanted to cross this invisible new line. The one that took them from best friends to something else. Something that she believed would be infinitely better, closer—everything she could want. 

Lowering herself against his over-heated cock, she slipped over him as she captured him in her sensitive folds. Sucking his lip tenderly and skimming over it with the tip of her tongue, she rocked her hips, sliding over him until the tip of his cock bumped into her clit. She groaned as it reminded her with a little thrill of pleasure what she'd experienced earlier when he'd surprised her by using his mouth. She couldn't help smiling against his lips when he whimpered slightly and ran his hands up her thighs until he was clutching at her bum in an attempt to guide her movements. With slightly more intent, she rutted over him, fitting his hardness tightly between her slick lower lips. A needy humming vibrated from him against her mouth and she parted their lips, gratified by the look of pleasure making his jaw slacken and his eyes burn darkly.

"God," he groaned, his head going back and fingers digging into her flesh in a way that only made her want to tease him further.

But, deciding they both seemed to be ready, she reached between them to wrap her hand around his now rather slippery cock to angle him toward her entrance. Running her fingers over his smooth, silken skin, she realized that, as much as she really wanted to experience this without barriers, Jemma knew she could wait if she had to.

"You're certain this is alright?" she asked. Waiting until she caught his eyes, she continued, "I mean, I can get us condoms if you prefer that.” Her brow crinkled involuntarily at her own words. It seemed an odd moment to ask now but she found herself afraid he might’ve agreed only out of a desire to please her somehow, even if it wasn’t what he really wanted.

Despite the fact that she knew it was her own guilt over Will coming to the fore, she felt the need to hear Fitz's reassurance, his consent, one more time. Though if he ever asked, she would tell him, she didn't relish the thought of recounting to Fitz all the details of what had and hadn't happened between Will and herself. He'd likely made his own assumptions but, with lack of birth protection available, she and Will had never engaged in this particular activity. 

She knew all this hesitance and timidity was unlike her but everything that had been between Fitz and herself seemed to stir up each one of her insecurities. At least, the relief she felt that _some_ of their issues were resolved was overshadowing her anticipation of chipping away at the rest, at the moment anyway. 

Fitz shook his head fiercely. “It's fine,” he said. " _Completely_  fine." He slid his hands down to grasp her thighs as if he thought she would leave him despite his assurances. Feeling some of her worry dissipate at his sure words, she certainly had no intention of disappointing now.

Looking a little desperate, with his breathing quicker in anticipation of finally being inside her, she felt his fingers tighten on her thighs again as she brushed the head of his cock through her wetness several times. Then, slowly, she lowered herself, humming with pleasure at the wonderful feel of him spreading her open to accommodate his size as she was filled.

Fitz's jaw slacked again, his eyes rolling back as she slid down along the length of him. When she’d descended as low as she could, still feeling pleasantly stretched, she leaned down to kiss him and give herself a moment. He put one hand to each side of her face and kissed her as if he could imbue it with all the vast well of feeling she knew he held inside—it was as if he wished to fill this small gesture with all the intensity of the first, last and all the times in between that they would ever kiss. 

“I love you,” she murmured against his lips but before he could respond, she then began to move her hips—undulating and sliding along his cock to his pleased moans.

“Sweet Jesus,” he ground out, rather quietly but emphatically. “Tha’s— _god_ —tha’s bloody incredible.”

She smiled, wondering if he would finish already. She didn’t care at all, confident they would work out this particular aspect of their relationship as they had all the others. Still, she didn’t work very hard to stimulate herself, believing it would be an effort wasted. Instead, she took his hands from her thighs and brought them up to her breasts, where she was sure he really wanted them. 

Surprising her, he took his hands away and pushed himself up to sitting, wrapping his arms around her waist and taking her nipple in his mouth. Slipping his arms to her hips, he used the leverage to shift her, pulling her down onto him with more force than she was capable of on her own. She gasped at the sensation, feeling his cock grazing the underside of her pubic bone. 

On a particularly good pass, she groaned out, “Oooh, just there,” as her walls trembled and quivered around his length in anticipation of pleasure.

“Yeah?” he breathed. “There?” And he did it again. 

Her head lolled back at the sensation, fiery pleasure lancing out along her spine from that one point inside her. Her skin prickled with gooseflesh as he sucked her other nipple into his mouth, sending a buzzing line of pleasure straight to her clit, and then he hauled her down again even harder this time. Her walls tingled and quivered again, readying for the inevitable bliss.

She braced herself on his shoulders, preparing for what was coming and hummed through her sealed lips to hold in the loud moan that wanted to escape. Then he pulled her down again but, this time, the pleasure was less and she sighed in disappointment as her orgasm skittered away from her. She waited until he’d manipulated her hips one more time before she accepted that it really had gone.

She sighed. “Damn,” she muttered.

“What?” he questioned, obviously having seen the parade of emotions going over her face as she lost her chance to climax a second time.

She shook her head. “It’s alright. It doesn’t matter. Are you almost there?”

He looked upset instantly and he stopped helping to move her hips. “What did I do? You were close, weren’t you?”

She tipped his head up more and kissed him. “You didn’t do anything. It just happens sometimes. Please don’t stop.”

“Can we try somethin’ else? To get you back?” he asked, his eyes wide and curious as if she were about to reveal the mysteries of the universe to him. 

His sweetness was almost overwhelming. “Maybe we could try again later,” she suggested. “I want you to feel nice. You’ve already done that for me.”

Please, Jemma,” he begged, his eyes wide and apprehensive. “Give me a chance to try?”

She had the feeling that his words meant more than what he was saying but she didn’t know what or why. Still, the answer was easy enough. “Alright.”

“What works best?” he asked eagerly. “On your side? Then I could touch your—ehm, y’know—“ He flushed without even saying it and she couldn’t help quirking her lips in a small amused smile. 

She hesitated, undecided on what did work best. Finally, shaking her head, she slid to the side, his cock slipping from her and leaving her feeling very empty as she rolled to her back. She urged him along, tugging his shoulder until he rolled after her, shifting himself so he was hovering above and between her legs. 

“Like this,” she said, stroking her palms along his shoulders and down his arms. 

He nodded, appearing too focused to speak. He bent down to kiss her again. Holding himself aloft with one arm, he stroked over her body with his fingertips. He started at her neck, along her chest, working his way down between her breasts, over her belly and lower, to the delta between her legs where he combed through her flattened curls. Finally, lowering himself so he could take one of her nipples between his lips, he slid his fingers into her folds again, intent on more foreplay. 

She was torn between gyrating her hips to help him find that elusive spot inside and arching her back toward him as he teased her nipple with his tongue. He pushed two fingers in and out of her while circling her clit with his thumb. It was a bit clumsy but reasonably effective, she decided, as she felt that tickle of pleasure coming back when he pushed his fingers into her again. She was impressed when he managed to aim for the spot just below her pubic bone again. 

Finally, her hips flexing convulsively as he worked his fingers in and out of her, she said, “Yes— _oh_ —Fitz, I’m ready again.”

Still looking a bit worried but far more than a bit lust-filled, he slipped his fingers slowly from her. Then, with great care, he took his time in arranging himself and lining up at her entrance before finally pressing his forehead to her shoulder and guiding himself into her. 

Immediately, she felt his feverish heat as he slicked inside. She moved her hands up and down his back, clutching at his shoulders as she moaned more than a little too loudly at the feel of him filling her again. The keen pleasure was tickling, itching to be released, as he angled toward the place she wanted him. 

“There, yes. So good,” she mumbled, angling her hips up to meet him and adding to the building sensation. 

Apparently, finding her words stimulating, he rather seductively prompted, “It’s good?”

She nodded rapidly, pushing his hips away and pulling them back, to urge him to move even faster as she brought her feet up to wrap around the backs of his thighs. She could see him trying to hold himself back, his jaw clenched and forehead tense, even as he still tried to discover all the ways he might please her. Jemma didn’t know if she was more gratified or frustrated that he wouldn’t just let himself go. Somehow, she knew that he, being the romantic between them, likely felt there was some special meaning attached to this first time they were together.

“Like that?” he asked, his tone breathy and insubstantial as he repeated the action that was bringing her so close to the edge.

“Oh, Fitz,” she murmured, her eyes closing as she shivered with pleasure. “Yes.” He pulled out slowly, then thrust back in a little harder and she decided he felt larger in this position, well, thicker, in any case. The friction was incredible and the angle nearly perfect.

“You like that?” he asked, his tone deeper than she’d ever heard it before. But he sounded oddly emotional and, as she opened her eyes, he looked away from her face, as if suddenly ashamed. She wondered if he was still questioning how she felt, doubting her, or in some way, them.

“It’s perfect,” she reassured, turning his head back with no resistance from him, so she could see his eyes again. “I love you, Fitz—so much.”

His eyes seemed to burn into hers and she saw something in the depths of his pupils then—as if he’d suddenly accepted it somewhere in his mind. His lips quivered just a bit and then he pressed them together tightly. “I love you, Jemma. Always. More than anythin'.” Then he kissed her deeply, his tongue delving into her mouth powerfully but sensually as his hips sped up again. 

Inflamed, she ran her hands down his back to grip the roundness of his arse in both hands as he pumped into her. She grinned when his hips stuttered in their rhythm and he made a sudden gasp over her mouth as his face instantly grew hot again with another blush. Pulling away from her lips to look at her, his expression was utter indignance. 

But then he smiled and pressed his forehead to hers as he teased, “Find somethin’ y'like?”

She nodded, still grinning herself, as she moved to press close for a sweet, flirtatious kiss. 

Squeezing his flesh as the muscles worked, hollowing out under her palms as he filled her up again, she realized she found this erotic in a way she’d never even thought of before. It made the little flame of desire blaze up in her again until she was rocking her hips up, searching for that elusive something that would end her agony.

Having quickly recovered from her attention to one of her favorite parts of his anatomy, he began to move in a more predictable pattern again. As his torso surged over her, she slid her palms back up his sides so she could grip his shoulders, feeling the movement of muscle, bone and tendon beneath his skin. Every detail seemed heightened and all-consuming from the feel of her hardened nipples grazing against his chest with each stroke, to how his eyes half-closed in pleasure and his mouth dropped gently open. She stroked his shoulder blades and relished the way his back arched alluringly as he drove home each time he rasped into her and drew aching pleasure from somewhere deep inside that no one had ever touched in her before. 

Without warning, his arm, still weaker after his injury, began to shake where it held him up. Though she feared hurting his feelings or making him feel inadequate in some way, still, she was about to say something, when he suddenly lowered himself gently over her body. His weight was carefully balanced and an unexpected comfort as he pressed against her in a stunningly intimate embrace. 

Kissing her neck and gripping her hips, he began to go faster. She didn’t see how he could have long with such full contact now but, undeterred, he forced his hand between them until he was able to find her clit. It was as much as he could do as he bucked into her as far as possible with his hand separating them. Moving rapidly, he was also stroking more firmly, bringing that building internal pressure up to critical levels.

By now, both of them sheened with perspiration, she felt his breath coming, quick and hot, against her neck when that small tickle of pleasure suddenly grew exquisite. Her walls began to clench around his length inside her in expectation of her impending climax.

“Oh— _mm_ —I’m going—" But she couldn’t finish speaking as, with one final thrust, she arched against him, rapturous delight bursting through any thoughts she might’ve voiced. Far more intense than her previous orgasm, she vibrated and rippled with deep, satiating pleasure as he continued to move within her—seemingly to the rhythm of her waves of ecstasy. 

As she came back from euphoria, she quickly realized he was now pulsing with his own finish. His breathing ragged as he quivered and trembled against her while his own pleasure overwhelmed him. Feeling his spasms within her finally cease, he shuddered against her one last time and then went limp in her arms. 

“Bloody fantastic,” she heard him whisper. 

She stroked his neck and sweat-damp hair until he finally turned his head to look at her rather shyly.

She smiled at him lovingly, leaning forward while urging him for a kiss. He obliged her and then tried to roll himself to the side. However, she held him fast—hugging him to her, she couldn’t bring herself to be ready for their separation so soon. Shaking it off, feeling ridiculously emotionally needy, she began to let him go but was surprised when he slipped his hands beneath her back, wrapping them around her shoulders and hugging her with a fierceness that startled her. She held him, slightly overwhelmed with her feelings for him and the apparent enormity of what he seemed to be experiencing himself.

He did roll off to his side then, facing her, but she caught his hand and twined their fingers together to keep just a bit of the contact that she craved. 

Fitz's eyes were suspiciously watery as he put his other hand to his forehead the way he did when he wanted to hide his reactions. 

“Fitz?” she said, taking hold of a finger and half-heartedly pulling at his shielding hand. “Please talk to me. Why are you upset? This really is something we’ll need to work on, you know? We have to do a bit more talking.”


	5. Falling Back To Earth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! It's been a fun five days. 
> 
> So, if you read the quote that the title is taken from in chapter one "Gifts only fall from heaven in fairy tales," you probably guessed this fic wouldn't have any easy answers because that quote means, nothing is easy, people. I never set out for them to have an easy ride but they do get their happy ending...basically.
> 
> It changes points of view in the middle so we can have a bit of resolution for both of them.

 

_When men and women agree, it is only in the conclusions; their reasons are always different. –George Santayana_

* * *

 Fitz couldn’t really disagree with Jemma’s assessment—not talking had been the source of many of their troubles. 

Drawing his hands down from his face, he couldn’t quite bring himself to tell her that he’d spent most of the unrelenting time he’d been in love with her repressing his feelings and thinking that this could never happen between them. But now that it had and, astonishingly, it seemed that she loved him, too, he found himself so overcome with happiness that he was damn near tears. 

While he tried to control his reaction, Jemma leaned close to stroke his hair and kiss his cheek. With startling affection, she smoothed her thumb over his brow and nuzzled his jaw attempting to soothe him. It only added to his inundated senses and his confounded state of disbelief. He couldn’t help marveling at the change in his best friend—her sudden familiarity. Having never experienced such intimacy with anyone before, it was strange and new. The truth was, the closest he’d come was actually with Jemma herself—but as his best friend only and that paled to what she was now demonstrating. 

While lovemaking was its own type of deeply personal connection, this new fond familiarity was so much more than he’d ever dreamed of before. It was staggering and yet he never wanted it to end. However, so long had he held back his feelings that now they were quite eager to be let loose and quickly threatening to overrun his defenses. When he’d had the idea of pleasing her to focus on, it’d been easier to ignore his tightly-controlled emotions that it now seemed would be unfurled whether he liked it or not.

When he still found himself gulping back his overwhelmed tears and unable to speak, Jemma smiled wistfully, stroking his cheek, and said, “You know, Fitz, after you woke up,” and, of course, he knew just what she meant by ‘woke up’ because the coma he’d woken from was—before this moment—the only waking up that mattered between them. Though, with a sudden optimism, he hoped that now might change. “I was so afraid of losing what we’d always had that it was quite difficult for me to want something more than that. I mean, I _did_ want it but I was terrified of it ruining what we already had together on only a chance of something more.”

He realized that she looked almost like she did when she was working something out in her head, speaking it aloud as she ordered her thoughts. “Then I realized that _not_ taking the chance was losing something as well. I’d never understood before that it could be even better and so much closer between us. It’s just—“ she met his eyes, smiling a bit regretfully, “I never felt like we were missing anything, Fitz.” Her smile grew warm and almost shy as she continued, “I suppose I just didn’t see how this could improve on our relationship. It seemed a risk with little chance of reward. I think that’s why it never occurred to me before. It was already so ideal between us.” Her gaze became weightier, more incisive, her eyes suddenly appearing dark and profoundly deep. “I was wrong. There’s so much more. I want more, Fitz. All of you that you would give to me.” She stroked her fingers through his hair again, her eyes shimmering slightly.

His own long-held tears began to leak from his eyes, much to his dismay. “ _Everythin’,_ ” he choked out. “ _Anythin’._ ” Pulling her closer, he pressed his forehead to her cheek. 

He heard her gasp in a suspiciously tearful breath, as she pulled him even tighter and whispered, "Yes, everything for you."

As he leaned away, he managed to control his outpouring of emotion enough to tell her, “I love you so much. And I’m just...” He paused, knowing it sounded silly but still wanting to give her the communication that she’d asked for, “I’m not upset, I’m just—I'm happy. That's all. You make me happy.” He shrugged, squeezing her fingers where they were still twined together and using his grip to urge her closer for a slightly damp kiss. 

She didn’t seem to mind, however, kissing him with an urgency that stoked the heat deep in his belly again. Even as he felt it, he knew it was more than desire. He knew that, he too, wanted to explore every avenue of being as close to her as two people can be. Not just this new physical connection—that in itself wouldn’t suffice—he would have to do as she suggested and open up to her again in a way he hadn’t for literal years now. If he was being honest, he had _never_ opened up to her the way he’d wanted to, for fear he would say something that would frighten her off or convince her that he truly wasn’t good enough to be her friend. 

Now, he would have to face doing that with the possibility that he would muck up this brand-new, near-perfect thing they'd begun. However, he also knew that new things never stayed perfect and people either loved all of you or it wasn’t meant to be. It had never occurred to him that this might be a naive concept, he’d always just accepted it as fact. You loved and trusted people completely—or not at all—because halfway was the road to obsolescence. If you found something in them that was so unworthy of love or trust, then you should likely reconsider the entire relationship—or so he’d always believed. 

Jemma gave him one last peck on the lips before she relaxed back onto her side, lifting up their still-entwined fingers and bringing them to rest on her chest where she then covered his hand with her other one. 

“I’m happy too. You’ve always made me ridiculously happy,” she said, smiling brilliantly. Her expression softened and then grew slightly apprehensive as she said, “I don’t want to rush anything but—” she looked hesitant for a moment, as if she was considering not saying what she’d intended, but then he saw her put on her determined face as she continued, “should we tell Coulson about us? I mean, I know S.H.I.E.L.D. used to have the anti-frat policy but now—” She shrugged. 

“I’m not worried,” he said, feeling almost giddy over her words—at her apparent plans for their future. But he tried to sound confident as he continued, “If Coulson has a problem, we can always leave. Not that I think it’ll come to that, really.”

“Where would we go?” she asked, wide-eyed and sounding quite surprised at his bold statement.

He quirked his lips. “Perthshire?”

Jemma grinned back but he saw something slightly bittersweet in it. Both curious and scared of what it might be, he asked, “Is that—ehm, not what you want now?”

“No, no,” she said instantly, squeezing his fingers where they were still interwoven with hers. “Just—I think I’d quite miss all this. Strangely enough.”

Feeling rather relieved that was all it was, he said, “Yeah. Me, as well. I really don’t think it’ll come to that though, Jemma. But, if you’d like, we can’t wait. Make sure everythin’—” _Goes well with us,_ he might’ve said if her face hadn’t suddenly crumpled as she anticipated his words. 

He sighed, feeling both ecstatically happy at the turn of events of the evening and a bit sad that things were not quite smooth between them still. He also knew that it would be worth every moment he spent putting everything right, in the end. He would do anything in his power now to fix whatever wrinkles needed ironing between them regardless of time, effort or even pain.

“I don’t want to wait, if you don’t,” she said, her tone firm and certain. While it made him feel good that she seemed to believe in them with such fierceness, it was just a touch frightening. Jemma’s potential for denial being what it was, anyway. He felt oddly that, had she been slightly _less_ sure, he might find it _more_ convincing. 

He tried to push such thoughts away, however, wanting only to savor the new, incredible feeling of being with her like this. As if they were ensconced in their own small sphere of intimacy within his room. Of course, there would be plenty of time for the difficulties that they needed to address and the ones that would—no doubt—surface in the future but, for now, he just wanted to bask in the light of her warmth and affection. The bright joy and contentment that would likely never come again quite so keenly or, very likely, ever feel just so dazzling and new as it did in this moment. He felt light and floaty again, unanchored and free, as if there were nothing that could weigh him down to earth. He looked at Jemma, a slight smile still curving her lips, and he thought this might be his version of heaven. 

As if taking a cue from his internal reflections, she rolled toward him. Not letting go of his hand with their fingers still entwined, she brought it with her as she draped herself over him. Tangling her leg between his and pressing her cheek to his chest, she cuddled against him comfortably. He brought his other hand to her back, stroking over her soft skin lightly with his fingertips and he felt the faint scar from her long-ago scoliosis surgery. He’d seen it before, when Jemma wore a bathing suit or something with a low cut back. Quite a few times over the years, he'd seen the long, thin, white scar but while they were making love was the first time he’d ever touched it. It was strange, this new intimacy between them. He felt now as though nothing would be denied any longer. As if he could tell her things he’d never thought to before. As frightening as that seemed, he still wanted to. And, more than that, he wanted to believe that there was nothing he could say that would spoil it now. Nothing to run her off and make her believe he wasn’t worth her time.

He knew that he couldn’t go on doubting everything she said for the rest of their lives. He had to surrender to the idea that she meant it when she said she loved him. That somewhere along the line, her feelings had changed in the way that he’d never believed they would. That, even though she’d lost hope in that hellish place of night, she hadn’t ever given up the dream of their being together completely. It pained him that she’d lost hope, that she hadn’t believed he would ever find her, but he still couldn’t find it in himself to blame her for that. He loved her and, for Fitz, that meant he loved her completely. There was nothing he found wanting in this incredible woman—his best friend, his perfect match, his other self. 

* * *

Jemma injected the last of the coolant into the gauntlets for Sarah and powered them up. It’d been rather difficult in the fireproof suit she wore and, even more than that, with Fitz outside the containment housing unit telling her how to do everything more carefully, even though she was already following all safety procedures to the letter. 

“There,” she said to Sarah. “Can you feel it working?”

Sarah nodded her head. “Yeah, I can feel the cold but it doesn’t hurt or anything.”

“Good,” Jemma said. “It shouldn’t hurt at all. There might be some tingling or potentially some slight numbness if they’re worn for longer than six hours at a time but they should be very safe. We’ll just see how they work for a bit. Even though our simulations have been very successful, in the real world, sometimes adjustments need to be made.”

Sarah nodded, looking down at the gauntlets as the coolant surged through them, hopefully, bringing her power down to a manageable level.

“Let me know if there are any unexpected issues and don’t forget to take them off when the countdown timer reaches zero." She pointed to the digital readout on the right gauntlet. "The sensors I've put on your skin will measure your temperature at all times and also let us know for certain how long you need to leave them off before you can replace them. Right now, from our simulations, it looks to be one to two hours, though it could end up being less.” She smiled reassuringly. “This should just be temporary as well. Fitz already has a new idea for another type of gauntlet that might be able to alternately focus or dampen your power. Alright?”

“Thank you,” Sarah said, meeting Jemma’s eyes with her tearily grateful gaze. “Even this is just—well, I can’t thank you enough.”

“There’s no need but you’re quite welcome,” Jemma said, smiling sincerely. “Though Fitz is really the one that made it possible. It was his breakthrough that allowed us to make them so small and portable.”

“It was Jemma’s idea though!” Fitz called through the speaker from outside the housing unit. 

Sarah smiled knowingly, her tears having already been snuffled back. “Tell him thanks too,” she said quietly. She quirked her lips and added, “You’re a lucky girl.”

“Indeed,” Jemma agreed, smirking as she added, “I’m quite aware. Not that he’d let me forget, mind you.”

“I can hear you, y’know?” Fitz said through the speaker, his tone mock-indignant.

Jemma didn’t respond, instead taking the handle of the coolant tank and, with a small wave to Sarah, she turned and rolled it along as she headed for the exit. 

Once the door had resealed behind her and she’d gotten the gloves and helmet of the fireproof suit off, she saw Fitz standing with his arms crossed over his chest, pretending his continued indignance. “I won’t, will I?” he questioned, squeezing his brows together for effect. 

Jemma had to press her lips together so she wouldn’t laugh at his bravura. “Well,” she said, unzipping the top of the metallic suit and letting it slip from her shoulders to the floor. “You _are_ the most brilliant engineer in S.H.I.E.L.D.,” she stated. “ _Aren’t_ you?”

Looking slightly confused, he said, “I dunno. I mean, I _s’pose_.”

She unzipped the trousers of her suit and pushed them off, stepping out of them toward Fitz. “And the smartest, handsomest man that I know?” she added, taking another step closer. 

His expression seemed to war between being gratified and growing uneasy as he waited for how this would blow up in his face, when he said, “Well, I _hope_?”

She took the last step to close the distance between them and, sliding her hand up over his chest, seductively said, “And really _quite_ clever at getting me off whenever we’re in bed?”

He cleared his throat, a blush rising up his neck, as he rasped, “Ehm, _well_ , er, _yes_.”

“Would you _want_ me to forget any of that?” she asked, stepping in toward him so he had to take a step back behind the honeycombed white wall where Sarah wouldn’t be able to see them through the window. Smiling up at him from beneath her lashes, she twisted open one of the buttons of his top and slipped her fingers inside to run over his bare chest. 

“Is this a trick question?” he asked somewhat reedily. 

She only had to tilt up her head the slightest bit and already he was coming down to meet her lips. Eagerly, he kissed her, his tongue sliding against hers, until they suddenly heard—

“You know I can still hear you, _right_? Guys, you never turned off the intercom!” Sarah called out to them, causing their lips to separate instantly as they both gasped in shock.

“Oops,” Fitz said, looking quite sheepish until his expression grew extraordinarily worried when she pushed hard against his chest with a look of irritation clouding her features.

“Ten points from Gryffindor,” she said in annoyance, turning to scoop up her fireproof suit and storing it away in the small supply closet by the door. Fitz knew how she hated looking unprofessional and it was more difficult now that they were always together, in addition to being— _together_. 

“ _So_ sorry about that,” Fitz said to Sarah through the intercom before shutting it off. “This isn’t goin’ to affect our plans tonight, is it?” he asked Jemma’s back tentatively. 

“What plans?” she questioned, turning toward him again to gather the rest of her things, noting how he was fidgeting with his clothes after he'd re-buttoned his top where she'd opened it.

“The, ehm, plans I told you about three days ago?” he said obscurely, shifting his weight nervously from one foot to the other.

She sighed. “Well, no, of course not. Though it might help if you told me what the _purpose_ of these mysterious plans are.”

He seemed uneasy under her gaze. “It's a surprise,” he said, his tone clearly indicating he had no wish to tell her but, should she press, he would.

“Fine,” she said, picking up her tablet, but when she tried to take the coolant tank, Fitz reached for it first. 

“I’ll get it,” he said, smiling endearingly, his features relaxed and happy. Had she thought it was a purposeful attempt to entice her out of her irritation, it likely wouldn’t have worked, but his expression was guileless and she was immediately charmed.

“You know I don’t really like surprises, of course,” she said, continuing to feign her mood, not wanting him to win quite so easily, as she turned to go out the door ahead of him. 

He hummed his agreement and said, “I know. They’re too difficult to quantify. This really isn’t that sort of surprise.”

Glancing back at him, she let out a short exasperated sigh. “Does this surprise come with food? Numerous people? Will it involve new sexual techniques? A combination?”

Fitz shook his head, a look of distaste crossing his features. “I hope you wouldn’t want any combination of those things,” he said, then, “Well, people and food, I s’pose, wouldn’t be an issue. But, no. Ehm, we'll only have food but—well, actually, it depends.” His expression went toward frustration. “Should I just tell you?”

Unable to stop herself from being amused at flustering him so easily, she slowed her pace so he could catch up to her while pulling the heavy tank. “No, it’s alright. There’s no need to tell me.” She held out her free hand to him and he took it readily, lacing their fingers together.

“It’ll just be us,” he said, raising one shoulder in a half shrug. 

“Then it _could_ be a combination,” she said mischievously. “Seems the perfect surprise for _you_ , actually. Your two favorite things, Fitz, sex and food,” she joked with a small giggle.

He pursed his lips in an attempt not to smile at her teasing. “Sounds a bit messy and those really aren’t my favorite things, in any case,” he disagreed.

“Oh?” she questioned. “Since when?”

“Since I met you, of course,” he said, his tone completely sincere. 

Not really expecting such a sweet response and, though it seemed odd to be surprised by it, she still felt a bit awed. “I’m your favorite thing?”

“Obviously,” he said immediately, smiling and squeezing her hand in his. Then, his expression a bit contemplative, he added, “I s’pose, ehm— _sex_ ,” he stage-whispered the word before continuing at a normal volume, “with you is a close second but food is way down the list by comparison—then monkeys, of course.”

“Oh, naturally,” she agreed mock-sagely, somehow suppressing a laugh. She was tempted to make him blush by reminding him that there was no need to whisper as everyone on the base was well-aware of their new relationship status—in fact, there’d been complaints—but decided instead that he’d likely had enough ribbing for one day.

As they continued on to the lab, Jemma couldn’t help but worry what Fitz’s surprise would be. Things had been moving rather quickly since they’d finally opened up about their feelings that night they were first together. 

The next day, hand-in-hand, they’d told Coulson that they were now in a romantic relationship, to which he’d replied, “Aaaand…you want a bigger bunk now or something?”

She and Fitz had looked at each other in stunned surprise before—with little more communication than matching barmy smiles—they both turned back to simultaneously say, “Yes.”

As they’d left Coulson’s office, Fitz had stopped mid-stride and turned to her, a worried look in his eyes as he clutched her hand to his chest and said, “This is—I wasn’t expectin’ that. Are you okay with this? I mean, we don’t—"

Halting him by stepping closer and sliding her hand along his cheek, she pulled him down for a lingering kiss. His wild-eyed worry was gone by the time she’d relinquished her possession of his lips. “I’m alright—if you are,” she said simply.

And it was done. Quite suddenly and without much discussion at all, they’d moved in together. 

It wasn’t as strange as she’d thought it would be somehow. Jemma hadn’t ever lived with anyone before. At least, not since she’d left her parent’s home to go to uni and, for a brief time, had an extremely frustrating flatmate. Still, despite Fitz’s occasional grumpiness in the early mornings, he was extremely easygoing when it came to most things. They’d been making compromises in the lab for so many years that it quite effortlessly translated to home routines and decisions.

They were both thankful for the well-built brick walls of the base as they began to explore the new physical side of their relationship but it didn’t seem to help with the noise in the hallway which is where the complaints had come in. Jemma wasn’t sure, but she thought it was probably Mack. His room wasn’t far from their new, larger suite. Fitz quickly worked up some soundproofing and things had been quiet on both sides ever since. Though Jemma still had the indistinct feeling that Mack didn’t approve of their new status, she just hoped he’d come to accept it in time. In any case, it hadn’t seemed to affect his relationship with Fitz and for that, at least, she was grateful.

The rest of the team—though almost insultingly surprised—seemed quite supportive of the shift in their status. However, Daisy was so disbelieving, she’d thought it was a prank. Bobbi had congratulated them quietly, Hunter far less quietly with some slight suspicion and questions about a bet (that Jemma had no wish to know about in-depth) but Agent May had only smiled. Not nearly as familiar with them as the rest of the team, Lincoln and Joey opted to say nothing to the announcement and both only sent her and Fitz appropriately vague half-smiles once it became public knowledge.

With Fitz being very reticent about open displays of affection and Jemma quite intent on keeping things professional in the lab, nevertheless, on one or two occasions, she’d found herself pressing a chaste, comforting kiss to Fitz’s jaw or laying her cheek on his shoulder when she grew overly tired. To her relief and gratification, all of their techs seemed quite pleased with the change, considering their expressions of delight at her rare, minor lapses in decorum. 

They’d easily finished the gauntlets, proving to Jemma, at least, that their new relationship would have little to no effect on their job performance. Although, Fitz claimed that he spent far too much of his time thinking about things that would happen once work was done. Jemma found she was rather untroubled by that. And, despite Fitz’s concern that he would be the more keen on that particular aspect of their relationship, so far, it hadn’t seemed to be an issue. She’d discovered in the early days of their explorations that a bit of nocturnal exertion helped her past her occasional insomnia. A few nights previous, she’d tried to wake him for a bit of midnight congress and he’d groaned prodigiously—then immediately taken it back. Still, she felt it proved his fears unfounded. 

The one aspect of their relationship that they’d yet to work out adequately was fieldwork. Though Fitz had always been protective—for nearly as long as she could recall—his need to safeguard her well-being had only grown with their deepening relationship. A month ago, Coulson had called upon her to go with Daisy and Mack for a new Inhuman pickup and Fitz had insisted, in no uncertain terms, that he _had_ to go along. No one had objected openly—even Jemma herself—but she’d seen the looks on the faces of the rest of the team. Jemma knew she would have to speak to him. 

That night as they arrived back at their bunk after a very successful mission, Jemma began to address it almost immediately. 

“You can’t look after me all the time,” she said, while she brushed her hair, hoping the indirectness of her manner would somehow lessen the blow.

“What?” he’d said, as he sat at the end of their bed taking off his boots. 

“You won’t be able to be there all the time. Eventually, I’m going to have to go on missions on my own. You might be needed elsewhere or we might be separated for a time.”

He wasn’t looking at her, only continuing what he was doing, resolutely removing his boots.

“Fitz?” she said, putting down her brush and turning toward him. 

Dropping his boot with a thud, he sighed heavily and turned toward her. “Mm-hmm.”

She recognized his upset but she didn’t think waiting would make it any easier. “I don’t want you trying to sacrifice yourself for me again. You’re not responsible for everything that happens to me.” She felt tears threatening at the thought of what he’d done for her—twice.

His face screwed up with some combination of anger and sadness. “Jemma!” he said, “How can you say that? You’re the only thing that matters to me! If anythin’ happens to you, then I might as well be dead.”

With tears beginning to leak from her eyes, she sat next to him on the bed and took him into her arms. He seemed surprised at first but then easily relaxed into her embrace. 

“All those months I thought you might be dead,” he said, shaking his head as if trying to remove the memory from his mind, “it was like I was missin’ half of myself—the best half—and I just didn’t want to be here anymore. I wanted to be with you or—” he swallowed loudly, “or nowhere. I can’t face it again. Not now.” His last words came out like a plea.

“Fitz,” she said, pushing away slightly so she could see his eyes, “I feel the same way. I can’t—I don’t know how I would go on if anything happened to you but—it’s the risk we’re taking, being here and doing what we do. There’s no way to prevent it—unless we leave.” His eyes went a bit wide at that. So he wouldn't misunderstand, she added, “I’m not _ready_ to leave yet but—Fitz—you can’t control it. You can’t stop it. If it happens, it happens. We’ll each have to deal with the consequences if it does come to pass. Please, just—we have to accept that.”

A glossy tear slipped down his cheek and he pulled her back into his arms. “Maybe—we should go?” he said quietly into her ear. “Maybe we’ve done all we can? All we _should_? When is it enough, Jemma?”

Leaning back again, she took his hand and threaded their fingers together. “I don’t know,” she said, looking at their entwined hands instead of his pained eyes. “I know I’m not ready yet.”

“What about—“ he paused for so long that she eventually looked up to meet his eyes, “Perthshire?” he finally finished. But before she could respond, he kept going, “What about a family one day? Is that—is that somethin’—“

Reaching up, she slid her hand along the side of his neck and pulled him down close until their foreheads were touching. “Of course it is,” she said, swallowing past the tightness in her throat. “When we’re ready.”

“Okay,” he said simply. 

They didn’t speak further, both too upset, their emotions stirred at the thought of all the potentially unfortunate prospects. Needing his comfort, she barely tilted her head toward his lips but, as usual, he readily took her cue and they began to kiss deeply. Slowly, it evolved into them making love and, somehow, it felt even more intimate to her than the very first time. He lay over her, kissing every part of her face, caressing all of her skin he was able to and meeting her eyes with such intensity that she was overwhelmed with her own feelings for him. Adoringly, she caressing his face, his body, and kissed him deeply, trying to show him, intent on infusing their joining with meaning—with all the love and devotion she could bring forth.

They hadn’t spoken about it since and Jemma had yet to be assigned another field mission, so she had no idea how he would respond. If his reaction to her small jaunt into Sarah’s housing unit was anything to go by, she feared it would be a terrible row. 

Fitz disappeared from the lab early to prepare for her surprise. He assured her that she wouldn’t need anything special and so she’d gone about running a new simulation on the flow-regulation gauntlets that Fitz was already working out the engineering of, despite the fact that their tests so far hadn’t been completely successful. 

Checking the clock, she saw it was almost six, when she’d promised to meet Fitz at their bunk. She didn’t even bother to straighten her workstation, she headed down the corridor with a nervous anticipation flittering through her belly. 

Fitz was disposed to make the occasional romantic gesture and, while not exceptionally romantic on the surface, Jemma could certainly appreciate his efforts. However, he’d made enough of this one that she was vaguely apprehensive. 

When she arrived at their door, not wanting to surprise him in the midst of his preparations, she opted to knock. Fitz opened the door almost immediately as if he’d been waiting. 

Stepping into their room as he made way for her, she saw first that he was wearing a very nice blue suit and even a tie. He’d lit the room entirely with candlelight, there were also flowers and a table set with dinner for two.

“Fitz!” she said in exasperation. “You told me I didn’t need anything special!”

“What?” he said in surprise. “You don’t.”

She held her hands up in front of her torso to indicate her usual jeans and top that she was wearing. 

“Oh,” he said eloquently, looking a bit shamefaced. “I didn’t think. I mean, you always look gorgeous.”

“Very smooth,” she teased, going to her closet and digging through her things until she found what she was looking for. “Just give me a moment,” she said, heading into the adjoining loo where she changed into the dress she’d been saving for a special occasion. It was black with a flowing skirt and intricate lace that banded across the top forming the sleeves. 

When she came out, Fitz turned from arranging something on the table and froze, gawking at her in apparent shock. 

Rolling one of her bared shoulders forward and giving him, what she hoped, was a bit of a sexy look, she asked, “Do you like it?”

He coughed into his fist and then stopped to gape at her again. “Ehm—yes!” he finally choked out. “I just—words…”  He continued to stare at her. 

Closing the distance between them, she brought her arms around his neck and kissed him softly on the mouth. “That’s very sweet,” she said as their lips separated again. “I hope you’re as enthralled when I let you take it off later.”

“Definitely,” he agreed enthusiastically and kissed her again as she chuckled against his lips. But, to her regret, he seemed to remember himself and soon led her over to the small table where he pulled the chair out for her. 

Once Fitz was settled across from her, she couldn’t help asking, “What’s the occasion?”

He smiled shyly, not quite meeting her eyes, and said, “Three month anniversary.”

Jemma couldn’t help laughing. “Fitz, tell me you’re not planning out quarterly anniversaries for the rest of our lives?”

He shook his head, a slight blush tinting his ears as he said, “No, I had another thing I was—well, I can just give it to you, if you like?”

Jemma felt that little thrum of anticipatory fear flutter through her belly again, wondering what he could mean. Wanting to hide the feeling for some reason, she shrugged her shoulders and simply said, “Alright.”

Oblivious, he grinned gleefully and pulled a small black box from his pocket. Jemma wasn’t sure how she felt for a moment. On the one hand, she was instantly filled with all the girlish excitement that she’d always claimed to hate when women were faced with small black boxes. However, on the other hand, she was a bit afraid of what it would mean to Fitz.

He slid the box across the table to her and, with her heart pounding a bit, she opened the lid to find—not the ring she’d been expecting, but a key.  

“Er, what’s this?” she asked, realizing that she sounded slightly disappointed. She instantly shifted her expectations and started again, this time with more certainty, “I mean, is this—“ But then she realized that she didn’t know how to continue. They’d already moved in together and their bunk didn’t require a key. 

Just as her mind began to spin with possibilities, Fitz held out his tablet to her. Putting down the box, she took it from his hands and saw something she hadn’t seen for a very, very long time. 

Looking up from the screen, her eyes wide, she said, “But _how_?”

Leaning back in his chair and expanding his chest in a way that was just the tiniest bit cocky—which Jemma found far more attractive than she would ever let on—Fitz shrugged and said, “Quite a few conversations with your mum and dad, mainly. Y’know, plus, that one you and I had a month ago.”

“But—“ Jemma felt a bit overwhelmed. “I’ve only described it. I didn’t even know where it was,” she said, sounding rather stunned, even to her own ears. She looked down at the tablet, the photograph of the very cottage in Perthshire she’d held in her memory all these years.

“That’s where the conversations came in, mostly with your dad,” he said. “I asked him where you went _exactly_ and then I had to search for it. I wasn’t even sure it was the right one until I saw your expression.”

“But—it must’ve taken you so long,” she said, shaking her head at the inanity of such a comment. 

“It took a bit,” he said, grinning with satisfaction. “Why d’you think I was so grumpy the other night? Mostly, I’ve been lookin' for it when you were sleepin’ or workin’ in the lab on another project. I only found it three days ago. It’s still in escrow, actually.” 

“But—“ Jemma was still trying to wrap her mind around why Fitz would do this so soon. “Why now?”

Instantly, he looked disappointed. Sitting forward in his seat, his expression was tight as he said, “Is it—ehm, you don’t like it?” He reached back, running his hand over the back of his head anxiously. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t—It was too—“

“Fitz,” she said firmly, interrupting his spiral of self-doubt. “It’s not that I don’t like it. Fitz, I love it. But, it’s quite a grand gesture. If the one year anniversary is paper, I think the three-month version is likely water or dirt or something. I only want to know—why now?”

“In back, it has a pond…” he said hopefully. At her stern look, he threw up his hands dramatically and said, “I dunno, Jemma. Just in case.”

“In case of what?” she asked, though she was starting to suspect she already knew.

“In case you decide that you’re ready.” He was looking down at the table but he glanced up to meet her eyes almost desperately. “In case you're ready to leave S.H.I.E.L.D.”

Jemma nodded, unable to be angry but not really happy either.

He was watching her reaction and when she said nothing, his desperation seemed to increase. “I know you think it’s daft, Jemma, but I haven’t been able to let it go.” He got up suddenly and started to pace. “The idea that we’re cursed. That—now that it’s finally right and _good_ between us—that somehow the cosmos will rip the rug out from under us again.” He turned to face her, his eyes serious and almost distraught. “And maybe it’s just irrational fear speakin’ but I _feel_ it, Jem. Like there’s some awful thing just around the corner waitin’ to hurt us.”

“Oh, Fitz,” she said sadly. “You’ve been holding onto this since that mission a month ago, haven’t you?”

He nodded, looking ashamed and downtrodden. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want you to think I didn’t trust you or that I want to control you in some way. I don’t want that. I just—I need you to be okay. That’s all I've ever needed.”

Standing from her chair, Jemma went to him and running her hands along his arms to his shoulders, she smiled up at him. “Don’t you know that together we can do anything, Fitz?” He gave her a mildly incredulous look, half-rolling his eyes at her attempt to lighten things. She still gave him a hesitant smile in return. “I know it seems scary right now after everything that’s happened.” Running slowly back down his arms, she took his hands in hers. “I think that together we really could do almost anything. Maybe you think it’s silly but I’ve always believed that.” She squeezed his hands firmly. “If it were true, I think we could overcome this curse you’re worried over because I don’t believe the universe is so cruel. I believe that there’s room for love and happiness, too, not only pain and loss. I think I have to believe that, Fitz, or I’m not sure how I could go on.”

His expression progressed from pure sadness into something like acceptance. Raising their joined hands, he pulled her arms around him, embracing her as she released her grip on his fingers. “I love you Jemma,” he said, pressing his cheek to her hair. “I wish I could promise I won’t worry or fuss but—“ she heard him gulp back tears, “at the least, I’ll try to believe that the cosmos isn’t out to get us. That there isn't anythin' tryin’ to tear us apart. That somehow—in the end—we’ll be okay. Is that alright?”

She nodded, squeezing him around the middle. “Of course it is, Fitz. And I do love it, so much. I’m happy to know that—when we’re ready—our home is there waiting. I love you, more than anything.”

Fitz hugged her a bit tighter and after kissing her temple, whispered, "Love you so much, Jem."

After a long moment of Jemma savoring their embrace—his thumb stroking along her spine and the decidedly pleasant male smell at his neck where her nose was pressed—Fitz cleared his throat and said, “I, ehm, I think our food’s gone cold. Should we go warm it up?”

“How about we save your third-favorite thing until after we've indulged your first and close-second favorites?”

“I have _absolutely_ no problem with that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could've done it but I didn't even _hint_ at zombie!Ward being "right around the corner." I'm not _that_ cruel. But—who knows—maybe at some point when this season is over (and this is officially AU) I'll do a sequel to this 'verse with them together and zombie!Ward trying to carry out the cosmos' evil plan? Muahahahahaha!

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, please comment/review! It keeps me going. ;)


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